Sins of the Father
by sparklemilk
Summary: 8 years after the war, Draco is finally starting to put his controversial past behind him & flourish as a Healer. But when a team of Aurors go mad after discovering an ancient evil hidden in the bowels of Malfoy Manor, he'll have to come face to face with his family's dark history and much to his irritation, Hermione Granger won't let him face it alone. Warning: DARK/MATURE themes.
1. Chapter 1

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"They're searching the manor now, Mr. Malfoy-"

"Mr. Malfoy is my father."

"Apologies, young master. Apparently there were quite a few secret passages leading to rooms no one else was aware of save himself and the Dark Lord."

"That doesn't surprise me."

Draco Malfoy looked disgusted at the prospect of finding out what else his father had done in order to get himself into the top ten most dangerous and sought after wizards list, _again_ , but he didn't intend on sticking around to find out. He eyed his old servant wearily.

"Whatever they find, tell them they have to deal with it. I wish my father's secrets could have kept themselves."

"But sir! They will ransack the estate. Everything; the heirlooms, all the valuables-"

"I don't care. I'm tired, Harkle. I just want to put this behind me. I have my studies and I...I just want to get on with my life; leave this all in the past."

"Sir, forgive Harkle...but there are things in these chambers...some of them Harkle believes the Ministry will not be able to properly evaluate or know what to do with. Ancient, things sir, older than Harkle. Some things, master forgive Harkle for saying, that should not even _exist_."

"Then have them destroyed."

The finality of his tone made the house elf cringe. He opened his mouth but a severe look from his master made the elf close it again.

Draco recognized the look on the elf's face and remembered how often it would appear whenever his father had given the final word. Draco wanted to be nothing like his father, so after a slight pause, relented.

"What is it, Harkle?"

The elf looked up at his master and asked simply,

"Even the living...things, sir? Master wants Harkle to destroy them?"

Now it was Draco's turn to cringe. He felt the whisper of curiosity tingling around the edges of his mind but quickly blew it away with his former resolve. He was absolutely convinced he did not want to know what was down there. He had his suspicions and did not need them confirmed.

"No. Let the Ministry deal with those...things."

"As master has said, so shall Harkle do."

And with a _pop!_ the elf vanished leaving Draco alone in the front gardens of the manor. He looked up at it marveling at how it used to seem to him a splendid palace where he not only resided but would someday rule. He had been fed the seeds of greed and power by his father at a very early age and had had no idea there were other things in life that one should seek and strive for. In his family's small bubble of a world the only things they concerned themselves with was conquest, privilege, and status. Draco's father had given them everything they could possibly think of wanting except the two things they needed most: his _love_ and the reassurance that should they lose all the power, privilege, and battles of their lives, they would still have that love no matter what.

Draco's eyes narrowed with cold hatred for the place. He snorted in derision and spat on the ground before stalking off into the night like a wounded animal who had only just barely escaped certain death.

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When he arrived at his flat, Draco sighed in relief. There were no aurors with last minute questions waiting for him like last time. He never knew what to tell them and nothing he said ever seemed good enough for them. He was tired of being held in their suspicious gaze and couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of outrage that they actually thought his father shared all his Death-eating plans with him. Did they think that was how they bonded as father and son? He'd only been a teenager the last time he saw Lucius and now he was rising to the top learning to be a world class Healer of the highest order, trying to make amends for all the lives he'd help to ruin by his father's side. He helped to save lives now and he was already well on his way to becoming one of the best the Wizarding world had ever seen. What else did he have to do to show he was contrite and trying to make penance for his misguided youth?

It was frustrating to say the least.

After checking the flat and making sure nothing seemed off to his now slightly paranoid self, he settled on the couch in his front room and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't help himself, usually he was very good about not letting his mind wander to the depressing memories of the past, but he couldn't get over something Harkle had said.

 _"Even the living things?"_

The old elf's words dredged up an old dream from his childhood. He closed his eyes trying to hold onto the elusive memory but could only make tatters of it come alive. He looked deep through the hazy mists of ill recall grasping blindly for complete recollection. Try as hard as he might but he could remember only: Seeing the descending walls of the Malfoy Manor cellar, lit by candlelight. Seeing the smoke stretching up to the gratings above after the candle went out suddenly. Feeling terror grip him as a low murmur further down the corridor crept into his ears. Running back up the stairs. Shivering in his bed. Watching his bedroom door creak open slowly. Seeing two cold grey eyes shimmer in the darkness.

 _"Don't ever...don't you ever..."_

Even now, those eyes filled him with dread.

These days he could hardly look at himself in the mirror because there they were, staring back at him;  
the only things his father had given him that he couldn't walk away from.

Draco tried to replay the dream but it was already slipping through the sieve of his brain. It seemed each time he tried to remember it, he remembered less than before. He couldn't keep hold of it long enough to elaborate on what happened so he dismissed it as he always had, as a simple childhood dream that would die with all the others, over time.

At least, he hoped anyway. If there was any mercy left for him in the world, it would surely let him forget.

With a flick of his wand, he put out the lights, settled into the couch, and was sinking into the loving arms of sleep within seconds.

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	2. Chapter 2

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Draco knew he was dreaming before he took a step forward. There was a fluidity about his surroundings, as if he'd been here before and he knew as soon as he placed one foot in front of the other he would be set down a path he'd already traveled. He felt quite certain the steps he took he'd already taken some time before but he could not remember where they would or had taken him then, only that there could be no revision was absolutely certain.

He held up his candle surprised at how small his hand was compared to it. He was shaking but he felt determined. He wanted to impress his friends with a juicy brag of inventory from his fathers private quarters below the manor. He hoped to find something unbelievably impressive, like a saddled unicorn or a room filled with leprechaun's gold guarded by a fearsome dragon. His greedy expectations evaporated suddenly when he heard a strange sound. Grunting. It was rhythmic and constant and seemed out of place in the dream. His steps were slower and softer now as he made his way around the narrow corners of the passage, passing doors which only a few moments ago his fingers had tingled to open. Now his curiosity was piqued and he had to find out what was making the noises.

His imagination conjured up images of dwarves mining for riches, grunting with the swing of their pickaxes or house elves polishing glimmering Malfoy treasures, their brows beading with sweat from the effort. But as he got closer, he could hear a much softer sound which was somewhere between a gargle or choked sigh and as Draco rounded the corner he saw a sliver of cold, pale light shining from a crack in the farthest doorway. As he edged closer to it his breath caught in his throat.

He saw a hooded figure of a man standing in the room. He was the one making the sounds. His hands were held out in front of him and they seemed to be holding onto something heavy, so heavy that it caused him to stoop from the effort. From Draco's perspective from the doorway, he could not see what it was, nor could he see the mans face, only his hunched backside. He appeared to be rocking back and forth and Draco wondered for a moment if he was having a fit but he felt a whisper of air blow upon his cheek and suddenly his candle flame blew out. The doorway began to close slowly but Draco could not take his eyes off the man who was backing up and turning to the side. Soon Draco would be able to see what it was the man was holding, what it was he was pulling toward him and pushing away, it was...it was...but then the door closed with a soft click.

Draco turned his head to see the outline of someone standing beside him in the hallway. The soundless entrance and abrupt closeness of the form startled him so badly that he dropped his candlestick and took off running down the passage. He heard the form call out to him, but what it said sounded like complete nonsense. It sounded something like,

 _"Fiddle us, Old Billy ate."_

He had no time and no wish to make any sense of the words. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he clambered up the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the third floor, bursting through his own and practically launching himself into his huge bed. He pulled the bedclothes up to his small, pointed chin panting laboriously. Besides his terror, he also felt strange. It was as if his mind were suddenly becoming still from a frenzy. He knew he was scared but strangely he couldn't recall why. He stared at his door and watched in horror as it began to move forward. A shiver went down his spine as a long and audible, _creeeeeeak_ went through the room and he saw a familiar and discomforting silhouette accompanied by a steely gaze that regarded him unscrupulously from the doorway.

"Draco," said a cold and quiet voice that caused him to cower. "Don't you ever step foot down there again. Never. Or suffer the consequences."

"Yes father," Draco said quietly as he put his head against his pillows and shut his eyes. Though he heard the door shut, he could still feel his fathers cruel and unforgiving gaze upon him and as the hammering in his chest waned, so did the reasons for why he should never step foot down there again, only the resolve never to do so remained.

By morning he was convinced it had all been a dream and like a dream, the events faded from the forefront of his childhood mind. The incident was never mentioned by anyone to him and after years, there was barely a dust ring around whatever it was that had happened to occupy that shelf in his memory. But somehow he never quite replaced it with anything permanent because the reminder of the memory's absence always seemed to be there, waiting to be discovered and remembered, completely.

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Draco awoke in a cold sweat amid the foggy residue of the twenty year old dream within a dream. Somewhere at the back of his brain a tiny, nagging voice persisted in a new possibility: _Perhaps this wasn't a dream._ But Draco turned his back on the thought. He'd been so focused these last eight years, hardly allowing himself the luxury of remembering the good old days because one, they were hardly good and two, he found that distancing himself from his past allowed him the freedom to better acquaint himself with his new life, which admittedly, he was having a little trouble adjusting to. No one would let him forget who he used to be.

Thankfully, after the fall of the Dark Lord, Lucius went into hiding and Narcissa, well, Draco could hardly think of his mother without feeling a twinge of guilt and a wave of futile wrath. She was the main reason he'd started his fellowship at St. Mungo's. He practically lived there for a year so why not? It proved to be a worthy distraction and he surprised everyone by proving to be proficient in the art of healing. It seemed his skills with curative spells got better with each passing day. Narcissa however, did not.

The young wizard ran his fingers through his pale hair as he thought about his parents and his five year old self. He was a child whose parents were constantly pitting him against one another. His loving mother with her smothering sentimentality who seemed more proud of him with each effortless breath he took and his relentlessly expectant father who dwelled on his inadequacies and fed his gluttonous insecurities. He didn't have a chance of becoming a fully functioning person with either of them, he knew that, maybe he always had. Even so, he still felt responsible for himself and he'd be damned if he was going to let those aurors have the satisfaction of watching him fail.

Draco jumped as the automatic coffee maker beeped shrilly at him. He didn't think he would ever get used to these strange Muggle contraptions but oddly enough, he found comfort in them. They proved to him his capacity for tolerance and change and he was well, _proud_ of himself because he hadn't needed anyone to tell him the difference. _He knew_ , in spite of everyone else in his life and their convictions that he'd never be able to, _he had changed._ Every morning when that thing beeped at him it, it was like a reminder for him to keep things in perspective, to keep his head down and his hands busy, because he was doing fine and he felt more determined to show those stuck up sods that he was worth a damn.

The coffee maker was far from the only thing Draco was learning from Muggles. He had also learned complicated and arguably unnecessary surgical procedures that Muggle doctors performed on other Muggles. At first he had found it quite barbaric but he figured it was useful knowledge in case he ever found himself without a wand (it had been known to happen) or any potion materials and he thought it would help his credibility if he ever wanted to leave the immediate wizarding world which only a few years ago, seemed an attractive proposition. He'd toyed with the idea of running away and starting a new life with a new name and a new outlook but it was his mother, with her worsening mental condition, who convinced him otherwise. He stayed and tried to make the best of it. There was still his inheritance after all, although the thought of spending even a knut of it, made him sick to his stomach.

The money was just sitting in Gringott's, gathering interest, and not just from goblin calculations to be sure. He'd been approached by several foundations, all of them wanting donations for this or that. Even Muggle symphathists who felt Death-eater fortunes should serve as reparation for the sufferings of wizarding and muggle families alike after the war. As much as Draco would like, he couldn't bring himself to ruin his family, especially with his mother still alive. He still had hopes that he could restore her former mental state and he didn't think she would take to "slumming it" (as she would no doubt put it) the way he had.

Draco poured himself a coffee and stirred in a generous amount of milk and sugar. He rubbed his temples until a _tap tap tap_ at the kitchen window made him look up. With a flick of his wand, he slid the window open and a tawny little owl flew in to deliver his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. He took the paper and gave the owl a kipper snack. He skimmed over the front page headlines while the bird ate. Kingsley Shacklebolt, The Minister of Magic, was attempting to bring a new transparency to the Ministry by informing the general Wizarding public on all the Ministry's activities, especially when it came to dealing with Dark Wizards. They still hadn't found his father, but Draco's eyes still widened when he came to the story with the headline: _Aurors Expose Ancient Dark Artifacts in Wiltshire Estate._ That would be Malfoy Manor, he was certain. He sighed heavily as the owl made its exit.

It was kind of them not to mention his surname in the article but it's not like any other magical families had an estate there. The "Dark Artifacts" was a dead giveaway. He shut his eyes and put his head in his hand. There would be talk at work. There would be those looks again. He folded up the paper and his eyes opened at the sound of a small envelope hitting the worktop. He picked it up, surprised to see who it was from. Well there went his early morning before work. He placed the parchment back into its envelope and headed to the bathroom to make himself presentable for the Minister of Magic who had written that it was _"a matter of urgency."_

Wonderful. Draco sighed disgustedly. _What did he want now?_

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	3. Chapter 3

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Draco was usually annoyingly punctual and arrived a few minutes early for his appointment. As he walked past the fountain into the lift he didn't say hello to anyone and no one said hello to him. He tried his best to avert his eyes whenever they accidently met with any witches' or wizards' because he didn't like what was usually staring back at him. Even after eight years. Always the same: Suspicion, revulsion, even hatred, but it was mostly the curious stares that set his teeth on edge. It was as if some of these people expected him to bow before them and beg for their forgiveness or supply them with juicy details from his own first hand account as a former Death Eater.

That was never going to happen. His penance did not obligate him to do that. Not ever.

Besides, he was quite certain they would never forgive him and even more certain nothing he could tell them would appease their hunger for explanation. Some people just needed to bond over a common enemy and as far as he could tell by their cold gazes and unfriendly faces, that was him.

He made his way to the Minister's office and was told by the receptionist to go on in. Minster Shacklebolt was sitting in his chair and staring pensively out a charmed window. Draco waited to be asked to have a seat but the Minister did not look up or at him and as Draco studied what he could see of his face, he realized the Minister's complexion looked ashen and new lines of worry had settled into it.

"Minister," Draco said breaking the silence in addition to the older man's reverie.

Shacklebolt blinked up at the young man a few times before he appeared to be aware of his presence.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said slowly. "Please sit."

Draco took a seat and lifted his eyebrows expectantly but the Minister said nothing further. He shut his eyes and sighed deeply before lifting his eyelids and giving Draco a hesitant, yet piercing gaze.

"I know these past eight years have been hard for you, Draco, and I know you have suffered under the weight of your father's reputation..." he began slowly.

Draco shut his eyes. He'd heard this speech before and couldn't help but wonder if this was finally the last time he would hear it. When would it end? When would he finally be allowed to simply exist without dirty looks and whispers following him with every step he took? Even when he thought he'd made a little progress it always came back to this conversation about his father, about what his father did, and about what he did _with_ his father.

"...but I am at a loss as to what to do with some of the objects the aurors found in your family cellar."

Draco eyed the Minister incredulously. Did he think Draco had any better idea with what to do with the horror show they must have found down there?

"It is some truly appalling stuff, Draco. Several of the aurors have taken ill."

Draco fought back a bitter laugh. He really couldn't believe that the Minister thought to consult him upon the findings.

"And what exactly do you expect me to do, Minister? Did you ask me here today for my professional opinion? Did you actually think I had any idea what happened in that house besides my father putting us through hell for a couple of table scraps of praise from Tom bloody Riddle?"

The Minister eyed him thoughtfully before asking,

"Well, did you at least know about the...experiments...your father was conducting?"

Experiments? Draco had no idea what to make of that. It was such a general term and hardly explained exactly what they had found down there, though it did more than suggest something "truly appalling" still, Draco STILL felt that persistent nudge of stubbornness to remain ignorant. _He did not want to know what they found._

"No," answered Draco honestly.

Minister Shacklebolt rose from his seat and started walking toward the door, beckoning Draco to follow.

"Then I have some things to show you."

"With all due respect, Minister. I don't think that would be beneficial for either of us," Draco blurted impulsively.

The Minister turned to look at Draco and arched his brow slowly.

"Why is that?" he asked with genuine dismay.

"Because...I...like you said, I have been trying to put this all behind me for the past eight years. I can see no reason why I should be included in this, macabre show and tell...of obviously dark magical...objects...and it is my wish that the Ministry retain custody of all...artifacts...taken from the cellar, sir. Everything." he finished quickly with an edge to his voice.

 _"Even the living things?"_ Harkle's voice asked, echoing through his head.

"Draco," the Minister began calmly. "I understand your fear at the prospect of having to be shown just how deeply engrossed your father was in his studies of dark magic, but willful ignorance will not help anyone, especially you. I am incredibly impressed with everything you have accomplished and if you'll let me say so, _proud_ of all the obstacles you have overcome to get to where you are now, but..."

"Minister, I need you to listen to what I am about to say. I need you to _hear_ it," interrupted Draco as he fixed Minister Shacklebolt in a steely gaze. "I have no intention of making myself privy to the dark proclivities of my father. I don't care what he was doing down there, it has nothing to do with me. And please do not insult me by pretending to understand what I have been through these past eight years because there is no way you possibly could. You have no idea what it feels like to walk down Diagon Alley feeling like people are about to hurl tomatoes and rubbish at your back. And why? Because your father was a Death Eater who served the Dark Lord who was only using him to kill and obtain power by any means necessary. I thank you for the pardon, as I was still underage when I was initiated into that freak show, but I'd be lying if I said I've been welcomed back into the community with forgiveness. Not that I expected to be, but I have fought; _I am still fighting,_ tooth and nail to get to where I am today and I will not jeopardize the achingly slow progress I have made just to go look at a couple of spellbooks and squirmy things in jars."

The Minister clenched his teeth and his face hardened as he looked down at the floor. He opened his mouth but could not seem to come up with a reply.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Draco said quietly as he stood, "I have to get to work." And with that, he turned on his heel, walked past the Minister and out of his office, nodding curtly at the receptionist as he shut the exterior door behind him.

Minister Shacklebolt exhaled slowly before turning towards his receptionist shaking his head.

"Jeanette, please send a memo to Robards and tell him we'll have to cancel our meeting. Thank you."

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Draco rounded the corner and stepped lightly into the lift. He immediately felt eyes upon him and steeled himself against the intrusive stares. The ride up went silently and he stepped out making his way to the fireplace gratings when he heard someone behind him clear their throat and say brightly,

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco's eyebrows narrowed as he turned his head and was surprised to see a Junior Medi-Wizard standing behind him.

"Oh, hello Higgins. What are you doing here?"

"Come with Patchley, sir. Tending to the Aurors. 'Fought that's why you were here?"

Draco considered telling Higgins that the Minister of Magic had summoned him but thought better of it. It might sound like he was bragging instead of answering a question that hadn't really been asked.

"What's wrong with the Aurors?" he asked, suddenly remembering something the Minister had told him.

"Sick, sir. Not sure with what, but it's bad enough they owled us to take them to St. Mungo's. I guess they can't apparate without assistance. You should come down with me, I'm sure Patchley will want your opinion."

"Yes, right," Draco replied. At least he wouldn't have to explain to his superior why he had been at the Ministry. He transfigured his clothing into his Medi-robes and they got on the lift to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

When they arrived at the offices, he realized it was worse than he'd originally thought when the Minister had first told him. He saw several wizards at their desks practically drowning in their own sweat. They were feverish, flushed, and panting like they'd all been running for hours. Draco saw that Hr. Patchley had already set up a Medi-tent and was having the Junior Medi-Wizards transfer the patients into it and onto the cots with their wands. There would be no moving them to St. Mungo's after all. Patchley looked up from his chart and nodded when he saw them in the doorway.

"Ah! Malfoy, Higgins. Good, I was wondering when you'd be showing up. Terrible outbreak it seems, not sure what yet but it doesn't appear to be contagious. Higgins, why don't you help Bleckley and Sargis with transferring the patients. Malfoy come with me."

Higgins smiled at Draco who nodded dismissively as he followed Patchley back out of the office.

"Were the aurors able to give you any information as to what made them ill?" Draco asked curiously.

Patchley turned to face Draco and gave him a very pained look.

"Yes, but I'm not so sure you are going to be very happy when I tell you."

"They became ill after going into my father's cellar." It wasn't a question.

"Yes...well, that's what the Department head is saying, the afflicted Aurors can't say much at the moment. I know it sounds harsh but I'm afraid many of them will not be happy to have you here."

"Well, they're going to have to get over that bit if they want to get better."

Patchley chuckled. "That's the spirit! If you make them better, they can't really say anything against you then, eh?"

Draco had always been grateful to the old wizard for giving him a chance and putting aside his initial prejudices after he'd proven himself to be an effective Healer, but he hardly shared the same optimism with his superior. He dreaded having to face the obvious but couldn't completely resign himself to the thought of having to find out what the Ministry stumbled across down in the cellars of Malfoy Manor.

Maybe he could help cure it by studying the symptoms or doing research instead. His fantasy was interrupted as the older healer clapped him cheerfully on the back before leaving him alone in the hallway and once Draco knew his mentor was out of hearing range, he balled up his fists and cursed aloud, wallowing momentarily in complete self degradation.

The sins of the father truly did haunt their children, he thought bitterly. No matter how hard he fought against this truth, it inevitably reared its ugly head to torment him.

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	4. Chapter 4

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After weeks of trial and error, the Mediwizards and Healers were no closer to finding a cure for the malady stricken aurors than they'd been on the first day. The aurors were feverish, had to be constantly hydrated, and suffered from hysterical fits and hallucinations. There was no better term for it, they were going mad. Draco had never seen anything like it and if Patchley had, he didn't say so. He'd started owling other healers around the country who came in and did everything his staff had already done with the same unsuccessful results. No matter what they did, no ones symptoms abated and there seemed no noticeable improvement or change in their condition at all.

 _What happened to them down there?_ Draco couldn't help but wonder. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't feel just the teeniest bit responsible but he was afraid once the aurors were able to speak lucidly again they would all start pointing their fingers at him. The Minister did not try to contact Draco again to continue their conversation about what the aurors had found in the cellar, although Draco figured it was just a matter of time before he did. He didn't want to initiate the conversation, that was for sure. But strangely enough, he hadn't seen any sign of Shacklebolt since their initial meeting when he'd first summoned him and that was weeks ago. Draco knew better than to feel relieved. He knew the other shoe was about to drop, he just didn't know what it would reveal. Only that it wouldn't be good news was certain.

Most of his time was spent at the Ministry now instead of St. Mungo's and seeing as how none of the patients were improving, the healers really didn't have that much to do. Even so, Draco pulled double shifts and hardly ever went home because something might happen and he might miss it. Draco took to taking walks around the corridors of the Ministry, just to pass the time. He'd learned which levels were frequently populated and avoided them as his repetitive presence made some of the ministry workers feel compelled to approach him and try to have conversations about mundane things. This meant he spent a lot of time just wandering around Levels 4 and 7. If he wasn't supposed to, no one let him know.

On particularly grey days, Draco would sometimes leave the confines of the Ministry altogether and head to the very top of the overhead building's Muggle facade which was renovated into a humble skyscraper and turned out to be a place a few wizards and witches would come to have a pipe or smoke break. Being a medical professional, Draco didn't think it wise to smoke but he would come up and just stare down at the city below. He'd hunch up his shoulders, clasp his hands, and just lose himself to his own errant thoughts and observations. He hadn't had time to do anything like this in years so it was nice. For a little while.

"You're Malfoy, aren't you?" an oily voice asked, breaking the silence.

Draco turned to see a man about his age, maybe a bit older, staring openly at him while leaning against an arched pillar.

"Who wants to know?" he replied indifferently.

"Harchird, Pierce Harchird. Pleased to make your acquaintance." With this, the wizard extended his hand in greeting.

Draco regarded the man with a cool stare before taking and shaking the hand he offered. Harchird was about a foot shorter than Draco and had dark, curly hair. His green eyes seemed to glimmer mischievously as he peered unabashedly into Draco's steely gaze. Draco was slightly annoyed to have been disturbed but waited politely to see if his new companion had anything else to say.

"Hear the aurors are still sick..." Harchird began nonchalantly.

Draco wasn't sure if he was supposed to reply to this comment so he said nothing.

"I hate when this place becomes a shit show of magic gone wrong..."

The blonde wizard eyed his new companion warily. Did this guy actually think he would take the bait? No such luck, bloke.

"Had my hands full myself. Work down on 4: Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," he recited automatically. Before Draco could turn his attention back to the scenery below, Harchird fixed him with a slight smirk. "You would not believe what they pulled out of your cellar, Mr. Malfoy."

This got Draco's attention.

"Mr. Malfoy is my father," he said with controlled calm.

"Ah, of course. My apologies. May I call you Draco?"

"No."

There was a tense pause as the two wizards sized each other up.

"I see. Well, Malfoy will have to suffice then, won't it?" Harchird gave him a roguish smile and stepped closer so that they were standing beside one another looking down upon the city.

"Forgive me for saying so but you seem a bit irritated?" the wizard continued.

"I hardly think it's any of your concern," Draco replied cooly.

"No, I suppose it isn't. But you know, I may be able to help with that." The damn smile again.

"Thanks," Draco said insincerely. "But I'm fine."

"Well, let me know. I'm sure you'll be glad you did." And with a small wink, he turned and left Draco alone with his thoughts.

Draco sighed with relief. He would never get used to these Ministry twats and their incessant need for conversation.

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Draco decided to head back down to make sure the vitals of the patients were still stable. They hadn't had any organ failure yet, but it seemed as if their bodies were being held in a perpetual state of terror. Their blood pressures were up, their heart rates never slowed, and their breathing was ragged and labored. He'd looked over the charts of his nine patients for what seemed the thousandth time more baffled than the first time he'd looked at them. _What had caused this and how could they stop it?_ Obvious questions that reverberated through his skull. He had no idea what to tell their families except that they were doing everything they could and he tried not to take it personally when his assurances were met with distrustful stares.

As Draco ducked his head to enter the Medi-tent, he saw the familiar silhouette of Aubrey Ringwald, who's husband Warren was one of the aurors admitted. She came everyday and held his hand for a few hours, trying to get a response but Warren only moaned and thrashed on his cot when she spoke. She wasn't like the other visitors and seemed genuinely pleased that Hr. Malfoy was put on her husband's case. She knew he was the best St. Mungo's had seen in a long time and took comfort in this.

She lifted her eyes as Draco neared and gave him a sad but warm smile.

"No change? Since yesterday?" she asked halfheartedly turning back to her husband.

"No, no change since yesterday."

She caught Draco off guard by suddenly reaching for his hand and he had to fight the urge to rip it out of her grasp.

"I miss him so much," she whispered as two tears rolled silently down her cheeks and her husband writhed and moaned incoherently. "It's like, he can't stand to have me touch him or be near him."

It made Draco uncomfortable when anyone sought comfort from him but Patchley was constantly telling him he needed to improve his bedside manner so Draco tried to relax his hand and gave hers a weak squeeze before letting it fall into the space between them.

"We'll figure this out. We have the best staff working-" but Draco never got to finish his sentence because at that moment, Mr. Ringwald's arm shot out of bed, grabbed his wife's hand, and smashed it down upon the bedclothes covering his pelvis, moaning lowly.

Mrs. Ringwald gasped in shock then darted her eyes back to Draco's.

"What... _what is that?_ Oh Medea! He...he's... _he's rock hard!"_ she said in disbelieving alarm.

Nothing could have prepared Draco for those words. At first he thought he'd simply misheard her but another groan from his patient had him replacing Mrs. Ringwald's hand with his own. It literally felt like the man had a stone club in his lap under the covers.

"Higgins, get over here and help me!" Draco called to the Junior M.W. They'd had to strap the aurors to their cots to keep them from flailing around and falling off of them so Higgins used his wand to unswaddle him and remove the straps while Draco used his wand to keep the man still.

When they lifted up his gown they saw his member was engorged with blood and it looked _painfully_ swollen. Horrendously swollen. So swollen it didn't even look like it was part of his body anymore.

Mrs. Ringwald's eyes rushed from Draco's to her husbands groin waiting for an explanation but Draco didn't have one. He'd never encountered anything like this in his entire career. Draco turned to Higgins, who's smirk betrayed how hilarious he found the situation to be, but with one stony look, Draco wiped the expression from the young man's face. He grabbed Higgins by his collar and practically threw him out through the curtains.

"Get some more cooling packs," he ordered and watched as the Junior M.W. took off toward the back of the tent.

Draco turned to his patient and noticed that the skin around his phallus was so strained it looked like it might tear. The poor man's eyes shot open, watering in pain.

"Help him! Oh please, _do something!"_ cried the hysterical witch as her husband writhed on his cot, moaning in agony.

But Draco had no idea what to do and watched horrorstricken as poor Mr. Ringwald's entire lower half convulsed while his member continued to swell, straining inside its thin tube of skin which stretched grossly to accommodate the rapid and invasive girth.

 _"Reducio! Reducio!_ " Draco heard the witch scream desperately, while pointing her wand. _"Healer, please! Please...Healer Malfoy! Healer, please..."_ she sobbed.

He didn't even try to join her because somehow he knew it would not help. He was certain there was no spell they knew between the two of them that would cease the inflammation and could only look on in wide-eyed helplessness as the auror screamed in unrelenting pain. It was happening so fast, too fast and after a sickening burst, they were covered in blood and bits of flesh.

.

* * *

.

Draco groaned heavily as he stepped into the shower. He was so tired. He watched as the water circled the drain and slowly took on a red tint while it swirled at his feet.

 _What the fuck had happened?_

It was beyond medical explanation. He'd literally been driven speechless, thoughtless, and actionless as he watched the man bleed out until he died right there on the cot with his wife screaming covered in her husband's blood. Patchley had told Draco to go home and get some rest but he could tell the old Healer had just wanted to get him out of the way. And who could blame him after Draco had just stood there stupidly while Junior M.V.'s rushed around trying to save the dying man?

Correction: the **_dead_ ** man.

Draco gave into exhaustion and rested his forehead and hands against the shower wall, leaning into it. Wet platinum locks fell forward and covered his eyes. The hot water cascaded down his pale, naked body and he could feel the weight of the last decade crushing him. His shoulders buckled underneath it. Is this when everything, everything he had been working so hard for, _just fell apart?_ Draco had never watched a patient die before, not without doing everything he could to save them and the fact that he hardly even lifted a finger for Mr. Ringwald disgusted him. He smashed his fist into the wall, causing the tile to crack and watched as his knuckles bled and the red tint to the water reappeared, brighter than before.

His grey eyes stared blankly at the wall while Aubrey Ringwald's desperate pleas rang through his ears. Not even a full blast shower could drown her out.

 _"Please! Do something!"_

He tried to reassure himself that there was nothing more that could have been done.

 _"Please, oh Mab! Somebody please help him!"_

They were dealing with a magical malady they'd never encountered before and they were in way over their heads. Draco was in way over his head, he could admit that, it wasn't even the worst part. The worst part, was that someone had _died_ because he couldn't admit that he was not prepared. He didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle and a man was dead because of his stubbornness. His wife's, no, his _widow's_ cries pounded inside Draco's skull. They became his heartbeat. He shut his eyes, but all he could see was blood and Aubrey Ringwald's pale blue eyes staring into his as the realization that her husband was now dead overtook her. She didn't want to believe it. She shook her head slowly and begged,

 _"Please..."_

 _"Healer, please..."_

.

.

.

(And then somewhere, at the back of his brain, said quiet, like a prayer)

 _"Severus, please..."_

Draco's eyes shot open at the sudden resurgence of the old memory and a deep sigh rocked through his body. He slid down the shower wall like folded scum, burying his face under his arms and knees as he sobbed in self-loathing.

There was no escaping. He felt like a pathetic little child, hiding from the boogeyman. The idea of having to go back to that place where the past taunted and memory haunted was traumatizing and he'd struggled with the guilt for weeks but he knew, after today he knew.

Tomorrow he was going to see the Minister of Magic and find out exactly what had happened deep in the bowels of his family estate.

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* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

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* * *

.

"I don't want to have a baby, Harry."

.

Her voice was hollow and though he was sitting right beside her, she sounded so far away.

"Shhh...you're just scared. Ginny was scared too-"

"No," she said with false calm. "Don't do that. That's not it at all. I don't want... _I'm not ready for a baby,_ " she persisted, her voice cracking on the last word.

Harry stared helplessly at his friend as she poured her crumpled face into her hands and quaked with a deep sob.

"Have you tried to talk to Ron about this?" he asked gently.

"Of course not," she sighed in exasperation. "Ron made it clear once I'd finished with school we were supposed to get married and I was to immediately start pushing out babies, _just like his mom!"_ she threw her hands up then clasped them as she fixed her friend with a pleading stare. "Harry, I was so careful, believe me, I was _so_ careful. I think he found my pills, he must have."

Harry gave her a puzzled look so she explained hastily, "I'd been feeling horrible and thought it was just a bug but when it got worse...I mean, I know the...symptoms...but I put off taking a test because I thought; I _knew,_ I was so careful," she repeated. "I thought, there's no way it could possibly be...but when I took my dose today, I placed it on my tongue...instead of swallowing it right off...and I noticed it tasted just like a Wic-Wac!"

He couldn't control the skepticism that flashed across his face so she pulled a pink compact out of her purse and popped a little white pill out of its blister pack before tossing it to him.

"Go on! Try it if you don't believe me! It's not like it'll do anything to you besides _freshen your bloody breath!"_ Her animated features screwed up with incredulous rage as fresh sobs broke through. _"He transfigured some Wic-Wacs so I would get pregnant, Harry!_ How do you suppose he figured that would go over, you think? " _Oh yay, a happy accident! Must have forgotten a dose! It's a bloody miracle!?_ "" she exclaimed in mock euphoria.

"Hermione," Harry tried to reason, "that's ment-a little paranoid, don't you think?"

"Is it?" she asked raising her eyebrows. "Do I have to remind you how insecure he can be? It's been a hundred times worse ever since he was sacked from the Quidditch League Board of Directors for gambling. He's been overly possessive and never wants me to leave the house. And ever since I agreed to help you overseas next month, he's been giving me the silent treatment."

"Well..." Harry relented. "I just think maybe he thought when all the laws you helped write were passed successfully and after you finished writing your book-"

"Books," Hermione corrected.

"Er, books...that you'd be ready to settle down, you know? Set a date, take a break from saving the world."

She laughed mirthlessly.

"Honestly, it's like he doesn't even _know_ me at all."

She cast her eyes far off toward the late morning horizon.

" _What am I gonna do_?" she whispered hoarsely.

Harry pursed his lips and simply placed his hand on top of hers because he had no idea what to tell her. He knew Ron would want the baby and focus all his energy in pushing Hermione to keep it. Over the years he'd realized they were cute together as awkward school crushes but made a terrible long-term couple.

Hermione was doggedly ambitious. She ravenously devoured knowledge and rejoiced in unearthing truth. If there was ever a dark corner of the Wizarding world where inequality prevailed, she ran in and championed for the underrepresented.

Ron wanted to be, well, _popular_ and accomplished and well spoken-of, without actually putting in a great deal of effort for it. He seemed to expect assistance from everyone in his life and naturally, had further expectations that everything in his life would fall right into place. Any kind of tension made him extremely uncomfortable and if he felt the least bit slighted or left out, he'd sulk and sloth around the house being passive aggressive and whiney.

It just didn't work between the two of them. And now, Harry thought unhappily, they were going to have a baby.

"I know it sounds awful, but I just feel like having this baby will be a death sentence," she confessed guiltily. "Harry," she pleaded once more, "I'm not done, I haven't finished-"

"It's not a death sentence, Hermione. Don't be irrational."

"I'm not being irrational," she disagreed emphatically. "You know once I have this baby, I'll devote my entire life to it. There won't be any time for anything else."

There was a surprised pause before Harry asked, "So, you _are_ going to have the baby?"

Hermione's lip trembled as she put her head down on the table. Her sable curls formed a veil over her wet face and her hazel eyes peeked through, though they focused on nothing in particular. Harry could barely make out her soft whisper,

 _"Do I have a choice?"_

 _._

* * *

 _._

After Harry kissed her tear-stained cheek and apparated, Hermione dried her eyes and decided she would take a hot bath. She hadn't seen Ron all morning and wondered where he'd gone to that required him to be up so early. Part of her felt relieved because she didn't think she'd be able to look at him after suspecting him of- her face balked, threatening to release fresh tears at the thought, so she pushed it aside. He was probably just visiting Molly and Arthur at the Burrow, she decided. He did that a lot these days.

 _I guess it's nice for him to have his parents all to himself now that their nest is empty_ , Hermione mused, _but now he wants to start a nest of his own._

In all the years she'd known him, Ron never seemed to enjoy or need solitude but Hermione cherished the few moments she got. It was when she could think most clearly, in silence uninterrupted by another person.

The bathroom was her favorite place to read and contained a small bookcase enchanted with an Undetectable Extension charm that was crammed with books; some read and some not-yet-read, as well as a thick stack of past issues of _The Daily Prophet_. She'd gotten behind reading them ever since she'd been putting in double hours helping Harry with his current workload; researching, reading, and translating various texts, but she'd finally managed to get her weekends back and snatched up the first copy she saw before stepping into the tub.

Her eyes skimmed over the bold headlines and moving pictures as the water drew higher and she tutted and gasped at this or that.

Her breath caught in her throat when her eyes brushed over a familiar, pale face. Out of everything that had changed over the years, his face was definitely a contender for the most. She'd seen him grace the pages of the _Prophet_ on occasion and, much to her surprise, even a few Muggle publications; his features frozen in stoic calm. He'd won an award here, cured a disease there, and even received high honors and accolades from the Secretary of the State for Health for his work in surgery... _surgery!_ As in, a scalpel. Not a wand.

It was always unbelievably bizarre to see how incongruent he compared to her memories but geez, _did he ever look miserable,_ Hermione observed as she chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. In this picture, he was shaking hands with Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, and practically _grimacing_ at the camera. Gone was the haughty smirk. His pointed chin now had a perpetually horizontal line decorating its top. It was him, but it was so freakishly _not_ him. Hermione marveled at how just a decade ago, maybe only half, she would definitely have felt a rush of smug satisfaction to see Draco Malfoy looking so unhappy but now, it was just perplexing.

 _What did that spoiled prat have to be sad about?_

One thing was certain: _The Daily Prophet_ didn't need colorized film to get his eyes right. The black and white photo was true to living color. She could clearly see that those baby-greys still had the same proud and unyielding determination, which she had to admit, made them quite captivating, especially when they weren't framed by antipathy and scorn. The new window treatments seemed doleful and dreary, however and she might have even gone so far as to call him handsome if he didn't look so stiff.

Hermione shook the paper out and one of the edges dabbled the water until the corner was thoroughly soaked and the rest of the paper began to dampen. The picture subjects scrambled frantically to leave their panels and Hermione caught Draco's sad eyes for just a moment before he was gone. She folded up the paper and chucked it toward the bookshelf where it landed with a thin plop. Sinking back into the water, she let her breath slide out of her lungs until she sank underneath the surface, staring up at the blurry world above.

She tried to picture herself as an expectant mother. Then she tried to picture herself happy. And no matter how many scenarios she placed Mother Hermione in, she couldn't combine the two images and make them one. There were just too many other things she'd rather be doing, that she _ached_ to do, and see, and experience, and she couldn't imagine where a pregnancy fit into any of it. Maybe other witches could do it, good for them, but not her. Not if she was being honest and after everything she'd been through, all the pain and joy she'd encountered in her young life, the importance of being honest with herself was by far the most important lesson she'd had to learn.

Besides the one about having to put the happiness of the person you loved before your own if you _really_ loved them. That one was a bitch.

Ron's face flickered in her mind briefly but she couldn't see it clearly, it was like she was already forgetting what he looked like as her blood boiled and her throat became raw with anger.

The top of her head peeped out of the water and she continued to slide up the ceramic edge until her nose broke the surface. She kept her trembling lips underwater just in case she gave in to the desire to scream. This was not her choice. _How could he just take away her choice?_ Like it didn't matter what she wanted? _Who the fuck was this guy?_ Because he was definitely not the best friend she'd fallen in love with.

And, she realized sadly,

 _she was hardly the same girl._

Her fingers pulled at the bath chain numbly and she reclined motionless as the water's descent tickled and trickled down the creamy borders of her skin before it disappeared down the drain.

With lonely finality, she made her choice.

But then again...she'd never even had one, had she?

.

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

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* * *

.

Tonight was the anniversary: _September fourteenth._ Although the master was gone, his work would not be in vain, not when they were so close. A symphony of bare tree branches decrepitated in the wind as black clouds loomed against the night sky.

 _"Ostendere,"_ a silky voice uttered into the darkness.

Almost immediately, out of thin air, a neon green outline appeared in the shape of a doorway and a dark shadow stepped through it before both vanished.

 _Like magic._

The silence of the manor was only disturbed by the dutiful tick-tocking of a large fireplace mantle clock. Moonlight shone through the emerald tinted lead-lights of the parlor casting jagged shadows upon everything it touched. An abrupt flash of green light erupted into the room, briefly illuminating the fine furnishings and coveted possessions littered about the place before it was sucked back into the pinhole it had erupted from and disappeared, leaving only a cloaked figure behind.

The cunning man couldn't help but smile at his own clever sorcery. Anti-apparition wards of the Ministry be damned, he would not be barred from his own home. There was so much those fools didn't know; they'd hardly scratched the surface of wizarding. They were mere babes in the wood, crying in the darkness and _he knew what was in those woods, listening to them, because he had harnessed and tamed it himself._ And they should cry. They should piss themselves with fear. He chuckled softly to himself before he made his way to the cellar.

If his estimations were correct, it was almost time.

 _But he still needed to feed her...she was always hungry._

Three clacks clicked in counterpoint as they descended _down, down, down_ the stone steps. The air was cold and damp as he inhaled sharply, relishing the scent of home. With a wave of his wand, he conjured fire for the torches ornamenting the walls and as he turned the corner of the tight passageway, his eyes narrowed at the sight of his ransacked chambers. Nevermind, they could never have found her. That was the beauty of darkness, one could hide anything in it. Darkness kept the secrets it was given.

 _"Arcanum revelare,"_ he whispered as a smile touched his bloodless lips. He waited. Nothing happened. His eyes darted back and forth in confusion, he cleared his throat and said the incantation again, more forcefully but still, nothing.

His face transformed into panicked uncertainty until a sudden realization dawned upon him; _nothing was happening because nothing was there._ The shock of the discovery hit him like a bludger to the gut. _How?_ He wondered uselessly. _How could it be possible!?_ His breaths came ragged and short as he began hyperventilating in the dank passage. The answer came to him instantaneously. He gritted his teeth and snarled in disbelieving rage, echoing a fury so potent within the corridors that the flickering torches were snuffed out. The quiet returned in suffocating magnitude as the twin slits of his argent eyes shone mercilessly within the black bowels of Malfoy Manor, glinting with hate and betrayal. He released a feral growl that died in his throat, choking on froth and malice before turning into a barely coherent, snake-like hiss:

 _"...Draco."_

 _._

* * *

.

"I'm sorry, but the Minister will be away until the thirtieth," explained the bespeckled witch shaking her beehive coiffure at Draco. "You may leave a message but I can't guarantee he'll respond before then."

"It's very urgent that I speak with him," Draco explained vaguely. "Perhaps I can Floo directly..." but she cut him off, shaking her head once more.

"No, I'm afraid he is not reachable by Floo at the moment. If you don't want to leave him a message, you can always owl him," she shrugged dismissively.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he looked down at this ridiculous hairdo with glasses. Did she not understand that a man had died just last night? He wanted to pound his fists on her desk or flip it over just to communicate how serious the situation actually was. But thinking better of it, he instead read her nameplate.

"Jeanette," he drawled in a charming tone. "I hate to be a bother, especially when I can see you are very busy. But the aurors upstairs are in need of something that was extracted from the Wiltshire Estate, you know, the one _The Daily Prophet_ reported on..."

She was scratching away with a quill, practically ignoring him so Draco took up her free hand in his. "Jeanette. I promise I will not interrupt you again but I need you to tell me, _doing so may save many lives,_ " he added dramatically.

She blinked up at him dubiously, both eyes magnified behind her spectacles as he smiled his most winsome smile.

"Where are they taking inventory of the artifacts? What has been done with what they found?" he asked slowly, making sure she understood his words.

"They..a-are...with the..." she began, apparently spellbound to his charms, but then she snorted loudly and put her face down on her desk. Draco's eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he opened his mouth to speak but the witch withdrew her hand from his and put up her palm, signaling him to pause. Her shoulders began to shake and her face broke out into hysterical laughter. _Laughter!_ Draco could hardly believe it.

"Nice try, love. But I'm afraid that I cannot give you any information and you will, like everyone else, have to wait until the Minister returns," she chided, wiping away a tear.

With that he stormed out of the office. He hated asking for help from anyone, let alone subordinates who didn't understand the severity of certain circumstances. Patchley still hadn't cleared him to return to work and he already felt bloody useless enough without bespeckled beehives laughing at him and making him feel more of a fool than necessary. He got on the lift in a huff, making a sharp turn to stay hidden by one of its sides so no one could see him and ask him to hold the lift and so he could be the first to get off. His eyes bore holes into his shoes as he stared down at them like they were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Of course they weren't but he was trying to distract himself from how horrendously murderous he felt. As he stared, he began listing useless facts about them inside his head. Black. Leather. Pliant. Rubber...

" _Mr_. Malfoy," an oily voice observed.

Draco shut his eyes in irritation before opening them and turning toward the person he knew the voice belonged to.

"Harchird," he greeted icily.

"I hope you're well?"

"Well enough."

"Really? Thought you might be torn up. Heard an auror by the name of Ringwald died last night. Or did I hear wrong?"

This was the cherry on top of a bad day. The guy was a real piece of work, he really knew where to find the tender bits, thought Draco bitterly. It took every ounce of self control he could muster to keep himself from taking a crack at Harchird's face with his fist.

"You heard correctly."

"Poor wife, she must be beside herself with grief. Imagine having to raise three children all alone. What on earth happened to kill the poor man? "

There seemed to be genuine concern in his voice but Draco knew what curiosity masked as practiced sincerity sounded like. He'd been listening to it for years.

"We are not certain what happened to Mr. Ringwald to cause his death but are doing everything we can to make sure it does not happen to the other aurors," he replied, trying to sound qualified and competent.

"Is that what you're doing here then? Instead of being with them, who's dead and dying?" asked Harchird with a backhanded smile.

Draco rounded on the wizard with venom in his eyes. _"Excuse me?"_ he spat viciously.

"I just find it curious that you're down here instead of being up there with them. I can't imagine it could be very helpful," Harchird remarked casually.

"What the bloody hell are you doing down here, then? Thought you worked on Four?" Draco challenged with his eyebrows arched up.

"So I do. Were you by any chance trying to see the Minister?"

"Not really your concern, is it."

"Suppose not. But seeing as how he's away at the moment, I figured you'd be coming to see me next."

"And why is that?" Draco demanded harshly.

"Because it just so happens that I am in possession of the thing what killed that man."

Draco gaped at him. It almost sounded like he was bragging. He stared down into Harchird's eyes and Harchird stared right back, smirking smugly up at him.

"How do you..."

But Harchird lifted his hand up, the second person that day to silence Draco in such a way, and shook his curls in denial.

"You had your chance to ask questions up on the roof. Now it'll cost you."

"What are you playing at? Cost me what?" Draco was absolutely bewildered.

"Perhaps more innocent lives, if you are not careful." The subtle threat was not lost on Draco, being careful meant being quiet, and the two wizards regarded one another in cold silence before the lift shuddered to a stop and Harchird stepped out onto Four while the lift witch's voice announced it.

"Be seeing you, _Mr_. Malfoy. I promise you that," he sneered over his shoulder before turning to leave.

And Draco was left standing alone in the lift not sure exactly what had just transpired. His chest felt tight and the veins in his neck were throbbing as livid heat rushed through his body. Was he being _blackmailed_ by that mop-headed little bastard? _Just who the hell did he think he was?_ He could almost laugh at the absurdity of it. It was true Draco was not the same wizard he'd been a decade ago, but he was by no means one to be intimidated. He now had something in his life he hadn't had in a very long time: _a desire for vengeance._ He would find out all he could about Pierce Harchird and help the poor fool arrive at the (sometimes painful) realization that you couldn't threaten Draco Malfoy and you _definitely_ couldn't threaten his patients.

 _Not without paying dire consequences._

 _._

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

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* * *

.

The rain fell in delicate strands down the sides of the windows, like tear. She still hadn't told Ron about the pregnancy. There was no time, she reasoned. George had been kind enough to let Ron come and work with him at the joke shop so that's where he spent most of _his_ while her time was divided between their home and wherever she was working that day. She had hardly seen him all week as their paths rarely ever crossed during their waking hours.

Her suspicions about Ron and the baby had been confirmed with a transfiguration counter charm that turned the birth control compact back into a small box of Wic-Wacs and she went about the latter in the Muggle way. She held the stick in her hands and watched as the blank box slowly revealed a pink plus sign. Her thoughts wandered back to the time she'd received her Hogwarts acceptance letter. She had stared at the red wax seal in wonder and anticipation. It seemed like only yesterday.

She felt somehow, she was still a child and her former child self was the only child she felt drawn to; the only one she wished desperately to protect and preserve fully. Even though her heart was broken, it could not be tainted. She would not allow it.

But she could not rise up above the chill of betrayal and realized with sobering clarity that she and Ron had grown apart. If she was being honest, they had been for years; she was just too stubborn to admit it. Had he seen it as well? Is that what had made him so desperate to tie her down? Did he think she would feel a sense of duty after being thrust unwillingly into motherhood? She could not believe him to be so manipulative and foolish but her heart sank, acknowledging she was no longer confident she knew the man at all anymore.

She turned her lipstick tube and pressed the color to her lips as a finishing touch before taking a deep breath and a handful of Floo powder. After eight long months she was to finally return to Ministry Headquarters. She knew some of the open positions had been filled since she'd been gone and she was eager to meet all the new employees and help integrate and assist them with the current changes to _modis operandi._ Emerald flames licked at her heels when she opened her eyes inside a large, marble fireplace and took in all the familiar sights. As she walked toward the lifts, she nodded at all the faces she knew and smiled at the ones she didn't.

"Ah, Granger!" a friendly voice called to her. She turned and was greeted by Jasper Scrivenor, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He'd only been in the position for a year and a half but already he was leading a progressive stance on reform that she agreed with full heartedly.

"When did you get back from Holmfirth?" he asked jovially as he held the lift partition for her.

"Wednesday, sir."

"Well the country air must agree with you, you look positively radiant!"

Hermione's jaw clenched and she lifted the corners of her mouth in a tight smile, merely nodding thanks.

"What does your schedule look like today?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, sir."

"Ah! Well, we've been needing help on Four. If I remember correctly, it seems to be one of your many areas of expertise."

She blushed at the compliment but couldn't help wonder at the obvious.

"What assistance would the Department of the Regulation and Control for Magical Creatures need from Law Enforcement, sir?"

"Apparently many of the staff have had some concerns with recent allocations and hmm...well, _changes_ to their _former_ standard protocol," he replied being much too careful to avoid looking into her eyes, Hermione noted with dismay.

"I see," she said frowning thoughtfully at the strange wording. "You mean with the law I've helped pass."

Hermione wondered if perhaps the employees had resisted the changes or downright refused to respect them. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been afraid of something like this happening but she tried to silently reassure herself. The law had passed. It was too late for revocation.

"You know, I'm somewhat out of the loop. I hardly ever have a chance to leave my office as swamped as we are with international negotiations with Eastern Europe. I hate to say it but I'm afraid we've been neglecting Level Four and not popping in to make sure everything is in tip top condition as regularly as you'd have liked..." he saw the slow growing panic start to wash over her formerly composed features. "Which is why I'm so delighted to have you back in our ranks!" he turned his cheery smile on her once again. "We've found it necessary to bulk up on sub-heads because the job proved to be hmmm...well, _overwhelming_ for Mundgeon."

This made sense to her. Ernest Mundgeon was terribly stubborn and lazy. Not a very winning combination for a superior, especially one who would now need to change the way his staff had been operating exponentially to fit the requirements of the law.

"I had recommended Rubeus Hagrid for the position, sir," reminded Hermione gently.

"Yes, and had I known at the time we would be taking in animals...hmm... well, _creatures_...for study and observation, I would have probably offered the position to him...but he doesn't seem the type to be happy in an office setting, if you don't mind my saying."

"Not at all, sir, I understand. But when did we start-"

 _"Level Four, Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,"_ interrupted the lift witch's voice and Hermione stepped out into the foyer.

"Jinsoon will brief you on all the details. If you can't find her, just go down the list until you find one of them. We can catch up at the end of the day. Good luck, Granger!" he called to her as the lift pulled away and descended.

.

* * *

.

Hermione glanced down at the clipboard in front of her. They had brought in five new department sub-heads. _Five_. And she hadn't been able to find a single one. She sighed as she went over the information realizing she would have to conduct one-on-one interviews with each of them. In addition to that, she would have to visit each office and make sure their current and past projects were up to Ministry standards and they were not wasting resources or neglecting protocol.

As Scrivenor had said, she _was_ the expert.

Any other day and she'd be over the moon at the prospect of being this busy but today she was exhausted. All the motivation she had felt that morning lasted for about two hours before fizzling out of her body. To make matters worse, it seemed the workers on this floor were going out of their way to avoid her or just be unhelpful in general. She grabbed the list of sub head names, figuring she might have better luck familiarizing herself with each person before delving into their responsibilities. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she started from the beginning but was unable to concentrate.

 _Finn, Peter_

 _Henry, Filipa_

 _Jinsoon, Mai_

 _Talal, Tahvo_

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* * *

.

 _But where was the fifth?_ She'd had five names on the list earlier, hadn't she? She shook her head, frustrated with herself for the mistake but a sudden rush of nausea overtook her. Abandoning her thoughts, she ran past several Level Four employees on her way to the restroom and locked herself in a stall. She pulled the stray hairs back from her face and wretched loudly. She hadn't remembered to eat breakfast, so all that came up was acrid bile. As she kneeled in front of the toilet, she couldn't help but laugh. She'd gone from writing laws under these walls to suddenly puking behind them. It was a cruel situation to be forced into. What she hated the most was the hypocrisy she felt. She didn't want to have this baby but she was going to, simply because she couldn't bring herself to terminate. She didn't feel brave or responsible to the life growing inside her; she was afraid of it. She felt like such a coward. The fact that she'd even had to make this choice at all had her absolutely livid because her choice, the one she'd actually made in regards to parenthood  was to prevent it from happening, _at all_. That was her choice, not _this_.

But now it didn't matter.

What added insult to injury was that she couldn't even lose herself in work. She'd always distracted herself with productive work in the past and it usually ended up being beneficial. But now she couldn't concentrate and she knew if she went back to the office, she'd just be getting up every two hours to puke some more. She wiped the corners of her mouth for what seemed the umteenth time and flushed. Sweat beaded her brow and despite the effort of purging her insides, her face looked sallow in the bathroom mirror.

She turned the knobs on the faucet and waved her wand to produce instantaneous hot water, filling her hands and splashing it on her face. Some rosy color returned to her cheeks and she perked up at the sight of it. A towell appeared next to the basin and she picked it up, gently dabbing it to her face and absorbing the remaining flecks of water. The girl in the mirror looked apprehensive and sad, so Hermione shook her head and rearranged her features so she looked poised and determined instead. She tossed the towel into the air, watching as it disappeared before it hit the ground, took a deep breath, and headed back to the office.

As she rounded the corner, she heard a distant grumble coming from further down the hallway. She couldn't imagine why the Ministry had found it necessary to expand the floor to make room for an observation deck and several quarters for both the staff and their charges. Usually DRCMC workers went to the natural habitats of the creatures to observe and evaluate them. That's why Level Four employees were hardly seen in the office at all. Now they were supposedly living at headquarters! So much had changed in such a short amount of time.

She jumped at the sound of a startling _whoop!_ and muffled _caw!_ that caused her to place a hand gently over her thudding heartbeat. Without reservation she decided she would need to check on the charges eventually, as well. She couldn't help but wonder if the Department had turned into a zoo? What in the world were they doing here exactly? She sat back down at her desk and read through the files of each Level Four sub-head to reassure herself that they had enough experience out in the field with the magical creatures they had been granted custody of and were knowledgeable in the care-taking and specific needs of each one. After she was satisfied with her appraisals, she organized her papers into stacks and decided to break for lunch. Harry was still out working on his super secret auror duties and she hadn't really planned on eating with anyone so she figured she'd just finish up on some recreational reading.

Just as she'd suspected, there wasn't anyone in the cafeteria she felt comfortable joining and the book she'd pulled out of her bag could not keep her attention. Her mind kept wandering from self pity to indignation and her eyes kept wandering around the cafeteria, unable to fixate on anything until...

A flash of platinum blond hair crossed her path of vision and she immediately recognized a face she'd seen recently in the paper. _What was he doing here?_ she wondered curiously. He still looked like a sack full of sad days, but there was no doubt about it, that was Draco Malfoy, in the flesh. She didn't know why but she turned her face away as his gaze made its way toward her and she didn't turn back around until he had left. _Was he looking for someone?_ she wondered. Maybe he had been called in to consult or make a report on behalf of St. Mungo's?

She finished the last spoonful of her yogurt as she mused, glanced at the time, and realized it was about time to get back to the office. She stepped onto the lift but before the partition was shut, she felt compelled at that moment, to look up. It was the same moment he felt compelled to look forward and their eyes locked onto one another's; hazel on grey, until the sway of the lift cage broke their eye contact and she disappeared down the shaft.

Hermione could not explain why and although she could have easily blamed it on the morning nausea, her stomach began to feel all fluttery. True, he still looked just as miserable as his photograph but there was no cruelty in his gaze, no disgust that she could discern as their eyes locked onto one anothers. Then again, perhaps he hadn't even registered it was her. She considered this as she bit her lip. She warranted that she did look quite different than she had at school. Her face had lost its youthful plumpness and her once unruly curls were now swept up in a loose chignon with only a few tendrils dipping down by her ears.

She tried to picture herself through his eyes, wondering if he'd been jolted with an immediate recollection or a passing notice. Whether he did or not was hard to say, but what _Hermione_ had not bothered to notice was that she was no longer obsessing over unhappy thoughts involving herself, an embryo, and a certain ginger blockhead.

As she stepped back onto Four, she felt much better and sat down to work on the task before her with a fresh and clear determination.

Pulling out her various lists once more, she took out the one she'd written with the sub-head's names, and turned it sideways, squinting at it. She was so sure there had been five of them and couldn't imagine she'd be so careless as to mistake four for five, no matter how sick she had previously felt. Bringing it close to her face, she noticed that although a name was no longer there, her tick mark _was._

Someone had removed the name...or someone...had removed _their_ name.

The question was who and more importantly, _why?_

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	8. Chapter 8

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* * *

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 _Harchird, Pierce_

 _Born 26/01/1975_

 _Hackney, London_

Draco thumbed through the file, narrowing his eyes into slits as he went over each tedious fact he'd been able to gather about his new best friend. It hadn't been hard to obtain, surprisingly. Just a little wand work and _poof!_ Brass in pocket. It was almost _too_ easy and he felt a tiny bit disappointed. Then again, there wasn't much time to waste so he supposed he should be thankful he'd managed to get as far as he did.

He'd decided to head back to St. Mungo's to check on the current admitted patients since many of the attending staff was now at the Ministry. Many of the patients needed recurrent healing spells to help them sleep and ease their aches and pains so Draco set about his task, making light work of it since most of the patients were already asleep or on their way once he waved his wand over them. He chose to sit with his last patient who was wide awake figuring he could just read through the file, since he didn't want to be rude and just leave after he'd administered the ritualistic treatment. Sometimes company was as therapeutic as medicine.

"Oh Healer, did I tell you? My son was accepted to Hogwarts! I'm so happy because that's so much closer than the other schools. I'm so _proud_ of him, my little angel..."

Draco nodded, listening idly as he read over the contents of the file which consisted mainly of a few paper records and brief biography. There really wasn't very much to go on. He'd figured someone as seemingly slimy as Pierce Harchird would have some kind of dirt on him but from what he could tell of the mop-headed bastard's life on paper, it was rather bland. He had gone to wizarding school at Castelobruxo, pursuing studies in Magizoology and _Fantastical Creatures_.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Yes, being a wizard one did see many animals that Muggle-kind thought were merely fantasy but the animals that wizards thought were fantasy actually _were_. Or, if they weren't, they were at the very least, right up there with the dinosaurs. Plainly put: Extinct. _Why did he devote years of his life studying them?_ Draco wondered. It wasn't as if you could put their skeletons in museums or prove they'd existed at all. _What an idiot_ , he thought as he laughed to himself.

"...the Mediwitch told me today was the day he was sorted into his house! Do you remember your sorting? I was so nervous at mine. I was absolutely terrified I'd be put into Hufflepuff. The hat told me I could go far in Ravenclaw because I had a sharp mind but my family has a tradition, you know...so I wished with all my might that the hat would put me in the same house as my sisters and much to my relief, it did. Oh I wish I could have been there to see his little face. I do dote on him so..."

Something nagged at Draco's mind though. He tried to recall the chambers in the manor but everything was so bloody hazy. Remembering anything from childhood was hard because adults were so quick to dismiss a child's fears as dreams or make believe; it proved exceedingly difficult for him to try and discern what was real, from what was fantasy, and he felt somehow, that adults, especially his parents, had taken advantage of their position in his small world. They were supposed to be the supreme of all knowledge so if they told him it was a dream or he'd only made something up, he believed them.

"...did I tell you which house he was sorted into? His father and I are so proud. Slytherin! We _do_ look good in green, you know..."

Draco smiled weakly in his patient's direction as she chattered on and his eyes went back to the folder. There was nothing in here that could help him. No leverage; no insurance. The beady eyed little wanker had all the chips and he was using them to gamble with innocent lives; lives Draco could _save_ if he only...if he could only... _remember_. He couldn't even remember  why it was important. What was this incessant nagging at the back of his brain? What had the man been holding? Why had it terrified Draco so much?

 _"Fiddle us, Old Billy ate."_

 _What the fuck did it mean?_ He sighed in exasperation and tossed his head back so it lolled upon his tense shoulders, staring up at the ceiling as if it would open and show him the answers. It was bloody useless. He'd ended up with more questions than he'd started with and was starting to feel a pang of hopelessness.

 _He had to save the rest of those people._

It was the only thing in his life he hadn't failed at...yet. After Mr. Ringwald's unexpected and brutal demise, Draco had been told that Hr. Patchley had checked on the rest of the aurors himself and although they were in a similar state of arousal, it was nowhere near as grotesque as Ringwald's had been. Cooling packs and calming poultices had been applied but the men were still in the same state of agitation.

Draco's eyebrows suddenly flew up. The _men!_ All the aurors in the Medi-tent were men. How could he have missed it? Normally, Draco didn't pay attention to gender unless it was malady or spell specific. Other than that, he regarded all his patients as the same and gave them equal treatment. He didn't tell males to stop crying and be men and he didn't dismiss females as hysterical. That kind of behavior was a relic of the medical past and had not been apart of his past or present learnings, thank Merlin. But _this_ was extraordinary. Had there been any female aurors present in the cellar? There hadn't been any notation of it in the report that he could remember but it could have simply been overlooked as being of little importance. Draco licked his lips anxiously...if he could determine that the disease was male specific it might help them narrow down the causes and with that, hopefully narrow down a successful treatment.

He sprang up from his seat and started cramming papers back into his file folder.

"Healer, are you leaving? Already?"

"Yes," replied Draco absently.

"Oh. Well did I tell you my son was accepted to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, you did."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said chuckling lightly. "I'm so forgetful these days. He's my angel, you know. I just love him so much, I can't help but brag about him to anyone who will listen to me."

"It's all right, I don't mind."

"Did I tell you his name?"

Draco looked down at the witch lying in her bed and felt the invisible grip of guilt tighten around his throat. The blood drained from his face and he shivered, wanting so badly to look away.

"No," he whispered hoarsely, frozen to the spot.

"You see how forgetful I am? Just blabbering away to you about him when I haven't even told you his name."

"No, it's my fault. I never asked you..."

She looked up at him and smiled kindly, as if grateful for being excused from a rude infraction. Her trembling hands grasped for something under the neck of her hospital gown and Draco steeled himself before a traitorous cringe could play upon his face. She guided a silver chain up over her head and her fingers fumbled with the clasp of a locket before she could pry it open and show him a picture of her beloved son.

.

"Draco," she said serenely. _"His name is Draco."_

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* * *

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Hermione took off her shoes when she got home and was looking forward to a nice hot shower and big comfy bed. The time had escaped her as usual, and by the time she looked up from her desk it was close to eleven. She let down her hair and shook out her mess of curls as she walked through the kitchen tidying things up a little while making her way to the bathroom. She glanced thoughtlessly into her office as she passed it before stopping dead in her tracks, her eyes stretching as wide as they could. What in bloody hell...

She took four steps back and peered into the room in unmitigated horror. It was _pink!_ and _blue!_ and decorated with soft, fluffy, _round things_ that had large eyes and disturbing, incessant smiles. Hermione's head started to spin as her eyes took in the room and all the strange interior design. On the changing table were enchanted candles that spelled out _"WELCOME HOME MUMMY!"_ She thought she might be sick right there on the pastel carpet.

 _How? How could he have found out?_ She wondered in desperate panic.

But the answer came to her instantaneously. Her nostrils flared and her eyes went scarily dark as her hands balled up into fists and a dangerous growl with escalating pitch released itself into the back of her throat. The sudden burst of wrath could not be contained behind her gritted teeth so she let it escape:

 _"HARRY POTTER! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"_

The overhead light flickered briefly before giving up altogether, apparently overcome by the witch's rage, and suddenly she was left alone in the dark with the candlelit message. She couldn't help but stare at it and let it burn holes into her retina so that every time she blinked, it was etched upon her eyelids as well. _No escape._ The last comfort she'd been able to save for herself; the fact that Ron didn't know yet, was _gone_. She wasn't sure why, but a song popped into her head and the lyrics were cruelly fitting:

 _It's your gradual descent into a life you never meant_  
 _It's the slow fade of love..._

And as she stood motionless, staring at the cheerful little candles that bobbed their bright little faces back and forth, she wished, in desperation, that she could be blind. She didn't want to see Ron; she didn't want to see his face, smiling and expectant, searching for the hidden joy on her own and puzzled because he could not find it. Because it _wasn't_ hidden, it just wasn't there. She didn't want to watch her body change as it became host to a tiny, bouncing bundle of helplessness. She didn't want to see her own reflection, with the accusatory eyes, looking let down and betrayed. Her chest rose and fell with breath but her body felt amazingly hollow. How could there be a baby inside her? There wasn't anything. She couldn't feel a thing.

A low rumble from the sitting room stirred her attention, bringing her out of her morbid introspection and back to her surroundings. That was the fireplace.

"Hermione!" a voice called out, and recognizing it immediately, she turned on her heel and ran toward it, seeing nothing but red.

"HOW COULD YOU?!" she screamed into his face as it emerged from the flames.

"I didn't! He came over a few hours ago and told me he saw the test! Did you just leave it right on top of the bin?"

"WHAT?! I...I didn't think he would know what it was..."

"He did. We've been out celebrating. I didn't tell him I knew, I just tried to act as surprised as I could."

"Oh _fuck_."

"Well, he kind of overdid it and is currently passed out on my sofa but I can bring him home if you-"

"No! That...that's fine. Let him sleep it off."

"Are you sure? He's dead to the world."

"Yeah. I-I don't want to see him right now. I have to figure out how..." she trailed off uncertainly.

Harry waited but could tell she didn't intend on finishing the sentence. He wished he had just gone over there so he could give her a hug right now. But Hermione didn't cry. She looked so pale and tired, like a plug had been pulled inside her, draining her eyes of every sparkle.

"Harry...I-"

"It's okay. I'll go. You get some rest, we'll talk tomorrow. We'll figure this whole thing out tomorrow," he reassured. She tried to smile for him but couldn't feign a positive response. His face lingered for a minute more, then vanished into the hearth.

 _Tomorrow_ , Hermione thought with bitter exhaustion, _just don't come at all._

 _._

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	9. Chapter 9

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Hermione took a deep breath and asked the witch for what seemed the hundredth time,

"Please, can you _please_ tell me who the fifth sub-head is? There were five on the list and now there are only four."

"Oh! Sorry luv, it's awready been a long day..."

Hermione glanced at her watch in irritation, noting that it was just quarter past eight.

"...I fink you're looking for a bloke goes by the name of 'archird. 'archird wif an 'H'. Percy or Peter or sumink, I dunno. 'archird is what I always call 'im."

"Do you have an idea _why_ his name-"

"Well I spose that's 'ow it's spelt." She cackled at this then resumed to answering Hermione's question after giving her a light slap on the arm. "Naw 'm only joking! I spose since 'e demoted 'imself, 'at's why he ain't been on your list. Spose, like Mundgeon, 'e couldn't take all the 'sponsibility or sumink. Can't be living 'ere tweny-four seven an' what not. Dunno really, 'm only 'ere to tidy the place a bitsy. Ta!"

"Thank you for your help anyway," Hermione called after her, watching her leave and mildly amused at the sarcastic notion that she'd just met literary legend, Eliza Doolittle.

Hermione clicked her tongue, scolding herself, and concluding that pregnancy had made her impatient and mean. She decided to wait back at the office and see if Harchird would make an early appearance. The handful of times she'd gone looking for him she'd come up empty handed and after the stress of last night, she really wasn't in the mood to play Harchird Polo. She'd had an especially bad morning because she hadn't been able to eat but somehow the nausea kept tossing stuff up, even when she was sure there could be nothing left and the inconsistency of the spells were driving her mad. Not just morning sickness. Afternoon sickness. Evening sickness. Middle of the night sickness.

She was sick of being sick.

Her insides felt as if they were sweating and her neck was sore from everything that had emptied out of it. She took a potion vial out of her bag and unscrewed the lid to drop a little onto her tongue, praying it would help ease her stomach but before she could even squeeze the rubber bulb, there was a commotion outside the doorway. It almost sounded like, singing? Before she could react, the office door swung open and in flew, no, _air-waltzed_ , a flock of cherubs carrying a large _bridal_ bouquet of pink and blue roses with _baby's breath._

She knew he probably picked it unknowingly, just thinking it was pretty and that she would like it, but as the cherubs fluttered and swooped around her head, her face felt like it was sinking into quicksand. The lyrics of their cacophony were lost on her and she barely even registered that they'd thrust the nosegay into her numb fingertips before swooshing back out the door. The constriction of her eyeballs straining against her skull in no way impeded her vision from the time-bomb in her hands, but the soft glow of impending tears began to, and before she could even gather a single thought, she was running as fast as she could from the office.

Up ahead, she saw the lift open before her and there appeared to be no one inside. Her footsteps pounded toward it and as she slammed the partition shut, all the stormy thoughts brewing behind her face began pouring out of it. _Why hold back?_ she thought. _There's no one here. No one who can help me._ She couldn't stop the volcanic tears from erupting and didn't even try as she broke down completely, burying her head into her hands, as the bouquet fell to the ground with a soft plop. After a series of long, shuddering sobs, she became still and quiet, concentrating on the only sounds she could hear: the ascent of the lift and the pounding in her ears until-

"Ahem."

The sudden sound of a man clearing his throat broke the illusion that she had been alone all this time and the blood that had previously been thundering inside her ears, made it's way to her face, as she brought her head up slowly and stared into a pair of cool grey eyes.

Draco Malfoy had been on his way to walk around the newly expanded hallways of Level Four before making his way to Level Seven and reading the Quidditch plaques and trophy engravings _again_ since he hadn't been cleared to return to the Medi-tent when completely out of the blue, this tiny tornado of tears and curls made her volatile entrance. He'd quickly dismissed the need for medical attention as he saw no blood or sign of trauma and made a snap judgement that this was purely emotional and he would have gladly left her to it, except for the fact that she'd slammed the only exit shut, barring him in with her. He decided once the main brunt of the outburst had subsided he would make his presence known, regretting it almost immediately as he saw the mortification bloom on her face.

The fact that neither of them said anything and were just staring at one another brought an almost comical atmosphere to the situation and the corners of his lips curved upward, involuntarily, reviving the ghost of a smirk that was _so_ familiar and so _attached_ to memories from a time when Hermione felt bright and optimistic. She gaped at the former boy who had once called her horrible names with his mean little smirk, and became reluctantly cognizant of how desperate she must really be if she could find comfort in such a recollection. Draco looked at her curiously, obviously perplexed at the massive breakdown he'd just witnessed; his eyes drifting from Hermione's bright red face to the ugly bunch of flowers she'd discarded on the floor.

"Allergies?" he asked doubtfully.

The absurdity of such a response might have made her laugh and, if he hadn't been who he was, she probably would have. But the lift witch's voice crackled through the air announcing Level Three, and Hermione was out the doorway before she could even finish saying the Department's name. Draco stood frozen in the lift, his mouth slightly open, before his eyes dropped to the ground and he knelt to pick up the abandoned bouquet, examining it with distaste. He shook his head, reasoning that he probably would have cried as well, had someone sent it to him.

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* * *

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 _Oh, holy hell..._

Hermione felt completely humiliated. It was bad enough someone had caught her in her moment of weakness but of all people! _Draco Malfoy!_ Honestly! Why didn't a bolt of lightning just strike her down, dead at his feet? It probably would have been a kinder interaction, maybe he would have tried to resuscitate her! She imagined the scene unfolding ridiculously, internally snapping at herself in disgust. She sought refuge in the Level Three restroom, walking calmly into the closest stall just in case anyone else was in there and sat down on the toilet, taking in three deep breaths. Her thoughts focused on this calming exercise and her body repeated it, listening as her heartbeats slowed and she regained composure. She scolded herself briefly for her loss of control, telling herself she was here to work, not to worry about what old school acquaintances thought of her.

After a brief appraisal of her appearance in the mirror, she adjusted her skirt and made her way back to Level Four. There were about forty steps from the outer office area to the interior hallway of the department and she stared at her shoes counting each one before a slight movement down the corridor caught her attention. _Harchird's door closed._ She took another deep breath, gathered her paperwork from her desk, and hurried down to his office, knocking gingerly on the door.

"Yes, come in," an oily voice answered.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open, side-stepping around two rather large trunks on the floor.

"Yes? How can I help you?"

"Are you Harchird?"

"That's me. Pierce, Pierce Harchird."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Hermione Granger. I work for-"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, yes I know who you are. Who wouldn't? The famous _Hermione Granger,_ " he said adding a dramatic vocal flair to her name. "How can I help you, my dear?"

Hermione didn't understand why, but shivered at the intimate term.

"Um...I'm here conducting interviews with all the sub-heads-"

"Well, I hate to disappoint you," he interrupted dismissively, "but I'm no longer a sub-head of this department. I-"

"Demoted yourself," Hermione finished for him, returning the interruption and raising her eyebrows expectantly. "May I ask why?"

He shrugged. "I can't really keep up with the responsibilities. After Talal almost lost a limb with that manticore I've come to find I quite _appreeseeate_ my body whole and unaltered, thank you," he said, snickering lightly.

"I see. Well, would it be alright with you if I went ahead and asked you a few questions about your past projects and responsibilities? It would give me a better idea of why the heads of this specific department are becoming overwhelmed and I may even be able to help take some pressure off you all. I hate to think of anyone having to take a cut in pay because they feel overworked or taken advantage of. Really, don't hold back, you can trust me. I'm here to help so-"

She stopped midsentence because her stomach gave a sickening lurch and quickly covered her mouth with one hand while Harchird's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The clipboard and papers she'd been holding fell to the floor with a clatter as she placed her other hand on her belly.

"Miss Granger are you alright?" Harchird asked in a panic.

"Yes, I-I..." she stuttered in weak reassurance, trying to recompose herself, but the nausea would not subside.

Almost at once, Harchird's eyes lit up with recognition as he stared at her stance and Hermione could have sworn his features transformed with sudden and intense interest in _her_. There was a hungry desperation at the core of his expression, as if he could hardly contain himself.

"Are you..." he asked in breathless excitement, "are you... _pregnant_?" his lips wrapped around the last word, needlessly over-enunciating it, and somehow making it sound salacious.

"I..." Hermione's knees felt weak and wobbly and she felt his spindly arms pulling her toward the chair in front of her. Completely dazed, she sank into it. She could barely keep her eyes open but thought she saw his grow wide and shifty as he licked his lips in rapid thought.

"Let me...let me get you some water..." he said coaxingly.

"Yes, thank you," she heard her voice say, but her intuition rebuked her for it.

She heard him rummage through a few things and felt he was making too much noise and far too many verbs than were needed to produce a glass of water so she took a groggy glance in his direction. His back was to her so she couldn't see anything he was doing but when his hand outstretched a glorious cup toward her, she accepted it gratefully and tilted the rim to her lips.

"That's better isn't it?" he asked as he took the empty cup from her hand, smiling greedily at her.

But Hermione never got a chance to reply. She felt her eyes sink back into her head and her head sink back into her neck and her neck sink deep into her body, _as she fell and fell and fell_ into the black.

And the black was all around and all there was.  
And she welcomed it.

Fuck yes, did she ever welcome it.

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	10. Chapter 10

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* * *

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"Draco, my boy! Good to see you, good to see you!" Patchley greeted cheerfully. "Are uh, those for me?" he asked with an embarrassed smile, indicating the flowers Draco was still holding.

But Draco ignored the man's question as his previous attempts to find the Healer had proven useless and now that he finally had Patchley in front of him, he didn't even bother with a salutation and got straight to his point.

"Sir, I was wondering if I could go over the notes and reports of the aurors case again. I've been by to see you several times...unsuccessfully." He couldn't mask the slight accusatory tone of his voice.

"I'm sorry Draco, I haven't been avoiding you and I know this is hard for you, but I'm afraid Robards has asked me to take you off the case. After losing Ringwald, it seems as though he's jumped to the wrong conclusion and wants to appear to be taking reasonable measures to ensure nothing like that happens again," Patchley explained solemnly.

Draco scowled in silence. He was completely outraged to have to be the scapegoat for that poor man's death, especially when they were far from finding what actually _had_ caused it. He only wanted to help, but Patchley had just confirmed his greatest fears. People were afraid of him; they thought he was the reason someone had died. Guilt ate away at his insides. _What if it were true?_ He should have just gone with Shacklebolt to see the contents when he'd had a chance. Now he was being blackmailed by a slimeball who had yet to make his demands known.

 _What the hell does he want from me?_ Draco wondered as he ran his fingers through his platinum hair. He hadn't been able to find Harchird since their lift encounter and no amount of wandering around on Level Four had brought about an appearance. He nodded in Patchley's direction, to show he understood the old Healer's words. They both stood up, and though Draco was about two feet taller than his mentor, he'd never felt smaller in his life. Patchley gave the younger man an encouraging smile and gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

"Don't worry, I'm sure there are plenty of things going on at St. Mungo's to keep you busy. We'll have this thing figured out in no time," he said winking.

But Draco could tell behind the facade of confidence, Patchley was worried.

He decided to try and go find Harchird up on Four. The last thing he wanted was to go back to the hospital. It was getting harder and harder for him to see his mother in the state she was in. No matter what Draco did it never seemed to help heal her mind. For eight years, she'd never had a lucid minute. She never realized the person she blabbered on and on to about her son _was_ her bloody son. Sometimes Draco's loneliness would overcome him and he would forget his position as a healer momentarily, trying to hug her or hold her hand. But she would only push him off, shrinking away from his touch as if he were a total stranger. Then not a minute later, she'd snap out of it and continue her sad laments about never being able to see her son.

It was complete torture.

Though he would never admit it, sometimes Draco missed his childhood. He missed living in complete ignorance of his parents awful ideology; he missed the time when he simply accepted their decisions for him, never questioning the right or wrong of it, they were his parents afterall. As far as he was concerned and as far as it concerned him, they were _always_ right. He had felt no shame then and actually took pleasure in witnessing other peoples. Life was so simple to him back then, but the simplicity was short lived. Perhaps all childhoods seemed simple because children could not be held responsible for anything besides their own reactions and even then, one could argue that their parents helped to shape those as well. It would have been very comforting to Draco if he could blame everything on his parents but he went to boarding school. They weren't there, he'd acted of his own volition, hoping, he realized bitterly, that with every action he made, his father would approve. If only he'd known it wasn't his father's approval he wanted so desperately; just affirmation he was someone his father _loved_ and not just another possession to further the dogma of Pure Magical Blood.

It took him over a decade to figure that bit out and it was probably the most painful and self-shattering epiphany of his life.

His thoughts went back to the aurors and his temper reignited as he made his way to confront Harchird. Although his hand was empty in their little game, he would never let on and would bluff until he _did_ have something. _No matter what it took._

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* * *

.

The air smelled like a campfire had just been smothered and the scent never seemed to dissipate. She couldn't tell how long she'd been down in the dark and her eyelids felt heavy as she struggled to open them where she lay, propped up against what felt like a stone wall. Her ears vaguely registered a scratching noise coming from somewhere in front of her but not close enough where she felt very alarmed. It reminded her of the puppy her grandmother once had, who used to scratch at the bedroom door Hermione stayed in whenever she visited her. Every time she heard the puppy at the door, she would crawl out of her covers to let him in, and he would sleep underneath the bed. He just wanted to be by her; she was small, like him and somehow that made them instant friends. Sometimes when she felt scared she would drop her hand over the edge of the bed, dangling it near the floor until she felt the puppy's soft, wet tongue lick her fingertips and comfort her.

She missed that puppy, but after a moment, realized she couldn't even recall the damn thing's name. There was no guilt in the realization, though, because while her eyelids had felt heavy, her body felt light as a feather. Her conscience was weightless and the floating sensation hovered all around her almost as if time had stopped and gravity was no more. The only thing that reminded her of her actual surroundings was the suffocating smell of smoke. It filled her nostrils and she coughed at once, having had her fill of it.

This seemed to stir something up ahead of her. It was as if something suddenly became aware of her presence and it moved toward her in the dark. She heard the scratching noises coming closer and closer but nothing could dispel the total, out-of-body bliss she was experiencing. The careless, floating sensation was too strong and she didn't feel as if she were in danger, but somehow she knew, somewhere at the back of her brain, she had figured out this was mere coercion, it was powerful, but she could see the crinkling edges around the illusion, even if she couldn't control the sudden impulse she had to stick out her bare hand.

 _"I want to be that little girl again,"_ she whispered into the darkness.  
She didn't know why, but she felt absolutely certain it would hear her and grant her wish.

Hermione felt the strain of her eyes dilating as they tried to adjust themselves, in vain, and she noticed that the black outstretched before her changed, ever so slightly. There was something darker, something moving toward her, that stopped just as it reached her feet. It was small, deceptively small, moving close to the ground. She felt her senses failing her but it sounded like a scurrying animal crawling on all fours; this thing that was darker than the dark. She waited expectantly with her arm drawn out and because she knew there wasn't just empty air before her, she waved her fingertips to encourage contact.

 _And that's when she felt it_

that familiar wet nose pressed against her palm and soft tongue licking her fingers. She felt her smile stretch all the way up to her eyes in joy and the rush of comfort lulled her eyes shut once more.

She did not resist as the puppy nuzzled it's way between her legs to sit in her lap, it couldn't seem to get comfortable and Hermione felt her skirt ride up as it circled her lap again and again, trying to find its preference. She lifted her arm to stroke the puppy's head and was surprised at the dry, rough texture she felt underneath her hand. It wasn't at all like the puppy she remembered and almost immediately after thinking this, reality came blasting back into the room, hitting her in the face like a pail of cold water.

 _Where the hell am I?_

She suddenly became aware of how cold she felt and the small weight in her lap had grown larger and heavier. The disorientation was staggering and her mind fought desperately to grab hold of something, _anything_ that made sense. Underneath her she felt something like a book and as her brain framed around the word "book" her hand quickly flew to her jacket pocket and a wave of relief washed over her as she felt the familiar length of her wand. She withdrew it, holding it out in front of her as a hoarse whisper escaped her lips,

 _"Lumos."_

The light was not as strong as she'd hoped, illuminating only an inch or two in front of her. The smoke filled her lungs and though she could only smell it, it was so strong. But there was no fire or any source that she could see and she felt nothing on her skin to cause her to believe it were blowing upon her from anywhere else. She tried remembering what she had been doing before. Hadn't grandmother's puppy come to her? Her head began to pound against her skull the crushing weight in her lap pressed down hard into her, so hard in fact, she suspected it was beginning to cut off her circulation and as if in confirmation, her legs started to numb. The only thing she could feel was a vague sensation tickling between her knees. _What the hell is that?_ Confused, she tried to angle her wand down so that she see what it was.

Much to her dismay, the wand light began to dim and she could barely make out what appeared to be matted... _hair?_ The tips looked singed and tar-dipped. Hermione stretched her arm further until she could make out something that looked patchy and burnt...like _skin_ covered in _black_ _ash_. Her hand began to shake uncontrollably and before she could stop herself, she accidentally prodded it with her wand. It stiffened instantly, then began to slowly rise until she could make out a barely familiar shape. _Shoulders...and...the back of a head?_ Hermione felt panic grip her tightly as the head turned slowly to look up at her and she felt her eyes bulge out against their sockets and her mouth go dry in terror as she realized she was staring into the face of the oldest woman she had ever seen. Only it wasn't a woman, the woman was a deception; somehow she knew...

 _...this wasn't its true form_.

The old hag looked half asleep, eyes barely open, cracked lips undulating as if something were struggling to free itself from behind them. Hermione stared in horror and could not stop the sharp intake of breath her lungs demanded at that moment. The noise seemed to wake the creature and its spine twisted grossly into a fetal position between Hermione's legs. As it opened its eyes, Hermione could see it had none. Where eyes should have been, there were only holes filled in with horrible black and its lips twisted apart sinisterly, _smiling_ up at her with yellow teeth outlined in glistening, congealed blood. Hermione shuddered as a raspy voice that sounded as if it was really three voices, crawled out of the largest hole in its face and pushed into her ears, making her blood run cold with their discordant unity.

 _"There, there little mother._ I _shall grant your wish."_

The mouth spread wider, revealing an appendage not unlike a scolex and Hermione felt a scream rise in her throat as it made a horrific sucking sound and without warning, the creature plunged it into the most intimate entrance of her body.

She screamed until the tendons in her throat gave.  
She screamed until she felt the blood vessels in her eyes burst.  
She screamed until she knew there was no doubt that this was really happening to her and no possibility of ever waking from this nightmare.

Then she passed out.

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* * *

.

Harchird jumped suddenly at the sound of pounding on his office door. He looked around nervously, afraid to confirm his presence, and decided it would be best if he just hid from his intruder. He muttered a password and disappeared behind a false wall that slid quietly shut behind him, just as Draco burst through the door.

"Where the hell is he?" Draco muttered as his eyes wandered around the room. It appeared as though Harchird had been packing, and for a long trip from the looks of it. There were thick volumes of books spilling out of two giant trunks and various skulls and bones from an array of animals spread out on the desk top. Something caught Draco's eye and he lifted it up to inspect it, smiling stealthily to himself as he realized what it was.

 _This_ was his insurance; his ace in the hole. He pocketed the small item and stepped out the door closing it behind him. There was something he needed to purchase before he saw Pierce Harchird again.

If only he knew the devil himself was hiding just beyond that wall, watching with morbid fascination as the nightmare he'd begun came to a vicious head. He whispered sweetly to his hideous pet as it made its horrible sucking sounds.

"That's it, good girl. Doesn't that feel better? Now, now...only take what you need, _we must make you stronger._ "

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	11. Chapter 11

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Draco paid the Muggle cashier and placed the packet into the breast pocket of his suit. Sure, it was dirty and underhanded but this was the only thing that men like Harchird responded to. That was something Draco knew from first hand experience. He hated to admit it, but there once was a time when he and Harchird could have easily been one and the same. Besides, he might not even have to resort to such drastic measures but having the option made him feel a bit more confident about their inevitable confrontation. If it was money Harchird was after, that might be easy enough, but wouldn't he have already made his demands known if financial gain was his only objective? Something wasn't right. What's more, Draco could not quell the stubborn Malfoy pride bubbling within him, prodding him to squash out the slimy little insect.

And he was feeling low enough to give in to any urge, no matter how wrong, as long as it proved a worthy enough distraction.

He apparated directly into the Atrium and made his way back to Harchird's office just to leave him a friendly, little note. An invitation, so to say. The dying aurors couldn't wait around for him to grow a pair so he could spit out what the hell he wanted and besides, Harchird wasn't leaving him with much of a choice, Draco thought impatiently. The man had said he was in possession of what had killed Ringwald and, after dropping that lovely little bomb, had just walked off without giving him anything more to go on. What was his objective? Harchird wanted Draco to keep quiet, but why? The anticipation was too unbearable, so if Harchird wasn't going to make his move, Draco would force him.

When he opened the door to the office, it was dark. The room felt strangely cold and hollow so Draco waved his wand to fill it with light. His eyes gaped unbelieving around him. Except for a bare desk, the room was so clean with emptiness that it looked as if it had never been used by anyone at all.

There was no sign of life.

 _Where the hell has the bastard gone?_ Draco wondered furiously. His eyes were like lasers, probing deep into every nook and cranny, every floor crack, every tear in the wallpaper but there was literally nothing there. He threw down the ridiculous bouquet he'd been carrying around all this time, and was about to start blowing the walls apart with his wand just to let off some steam when he heard something. It was a soft sort of whimpering. Draco stopped immediately and cocked his head toward where he thought the noise was coming from. It wasn't _in_ the room but it wasn't outside it somehow, either. It was almost as if it was coming from _inside_ the wall. He rushed over to the back of the room and pressed his ear up against it. There it was again. It was definitely coming from the other side of this wall, but Draco knew from his wanderings there was nothing on the other side of this wall. Unless...

He stared at the corner and noticed a crack that was far too wide to be a simple flaw in the architecture, so he pointed his wand at it.

 _"Semiapertus!"_

The wall struggled to comply but he was able to wedge it far enough apart that he could slip his fingers through and push it further and further away from the adjacent wall and force his shoulder into the gap. Then he shoved the whole weight of his body up against it until he was falling through to the other side. Dim light poured into the hidden room but could not penetrate the darkness at the back and he could now hear quite clearly what sounded like a small child crying. Draco stepped farther in, able to gage the room was more like a long hallway but unable to see much of anything in front of him, so he took slow, blind steps until his feet tripped over something. Something soft and solid was pushing up against his shins so he dropped to his knees to inspect it. Placing his hands gently upon it, he discovered _it was a person._ A person with cold skin and shallow breaths who moaned in fear the second he touched them.

Draco took his wand out and lit the tip, scanning it down the length of the body before him. First he saw light brown curls, then polished fingernails, then torn stockings, then something ruby red, pooling around the body. Draco recognized it immediately.

 _Blood._

The Healer in Malfoy kicked into gear and before he could even think about it, he was using his wand to levitate the body out of the narrow room. The light he had filled the main room with just moments before shone down on his new patient's face and he felt a kick in his gut as he recognized the witch from the lift earlier that day, the one who had been crying. She'd looked familiar to him then, too, but he couldn't quite place her, so he felt her pockets to see if she had some sort of identification. He found a small, zipper card holder and fished out the first one he saw.

 _Hermione Granger._

The name vibrated in his head, bringing back a million memories he wanted nothing more than to forget. The shock of seeing her like this was almost enough to stun him motionless; _she looked so small,_ but his brain tugged at him, demanding action. In an instant, her body was levitated onto the empty desk and he saw at once, blood running down the insides of her legs but there were no cuts or abrasions that Draco could see, aside from some superficial scratches on her thighs.

He used his wand to remove the clothing that obstructed his view and realized with a sinking feeling that the blood was coming from _inside_ her. His thoughts raced back to that morning on the elevator and he remembered the bouquet. He turned his head to look at where it lay on the floor and felt certain there was also a familiarity here; a clue. The connection clicked in his brain almost immediately. Pastel pink and blue. Those were the colors that practically overflowed from the maternity ward at St. Mungo's and Draco realized at this moment, how significant they really were.

Perhaps there was still time, perhaps he could save her _and_ the baby. But the image of Hermione crying so vehemently in the lift would not erase itself from his mind. Women didn't cry like that when they were happy. Maybe she didn't want the baby. Had she done this to herself, in an effort to be rid of it? He honestly couldn't believe that, besides, someone had left her to die in a creepy secret room hidden inside Pierce Harchird's office and that someone's identity was pretty obvious to Draco, who snorted with disgust. That beady eyed little fuck.

 _"What the hell did he do to you?"_ Draco said aloud as he looked down on her face.

Hermione's shallow breaths shuddered as she whimpered in reply and Draco knew he didn't have time to take her to the Atrium so they could apparate to St. Mungo's. She was losing too much blood and apparation might exacerbate it. But, he realized in relief, he didn't need to take her all the way to St. Mungo's. There was a perfectly good hospital right here at the Ministry! And not only would he be able to help her, he could once again be close to the patients he had been unfairly driven away from. Maybe after he saved her, they wouldn't be so prone to dismiss him as a Muggle hater. He took a deep breath, renewed with determination. Finally, it seemed like he had something to work towards.

The rest of her belongings consisted of her wand and a particularly rotten old book which Draco practically had to force himself to pick up as he rolled his eyes. Yep, definitely Granger. He gathered the young woman in his arms and could not help but feel surprised when she clung to him in her unconsciousness and let out another pitiful cry. _So small_ , he thought as he looked at her shivering form, feeling strangely protective.

" _Shhh,_ it's okay. I've got you, I've got you. He's not going to hurt you anymore."

And when Hermione heard that, her brain made the wrong connection; she thought he was talking about Ron _..._ and she felt so... _relieved_. Here was someone she felt immediately she could trust. This stranger, whose arms she was cradled in, had accurately identified her pain and he was not going to let _him_ hurt her anymore.

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* * *

.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO HER, RON!?" Ginny screamed the moment she saw her brother. "You are the stupidest, most selfish-"

"Ginny, calm down," Harry coaxed. Although secretly he admired her fire.

The Medi-tent didn't have a waiting room, so they were all pacing outside in the main reception area of the Auror Office waiting to hear how Hermione was doing. The Medi-witch who had owled didn't give many details, only that they were being contacted because Harry and Ron were listed as Hermione's emergency contacts and they should come immediately. It was around ten at night so most of the staff at the Ministry had already gone home.

Ron had arrived first, demanding to see Hermione but he had been denied admittance beyond the reception area. Healer's decree.

"Who's the bloody Healer then? I want to talk to them!"

"I'm sorry sir, but Healer Malfoy is seeing to your..."

"Wife!" he shouted at her. Then he blinked slowly, realizing what she had just said. "Healer _Malfoy_?" he repeated in stunned disbelief.

"Yes. If you would please have a seat and fill out these forms, sir, thank you. We will let you know of her status as soon as we're able."

And she disappeared behind the door leaving him with his mouth hanging open.

That was how Harry and Ginny had found him. After Ginny had thoroughly berated Ron for his monstrous lapse of judgement, he informed them that Draco Malfoy was the Healer seeing to Hermione's injuries.

"Well...that's good, isn't it? I read in _The Prophet_ he's supposed to be one of the best," Ginny replied.

"Yeah...but it's _Malfoy_! It's just...not right. Him touching her. He used to call her _Mudblood_ for Faust's sake," Ron said, shaking his head.

"A lot has changed, Ron. I don't think you should let an old school grudge-"

"AN OLD SCHOOL GRUDGE!? That bastard tried to kill Dumbledore, or have you forgotten?"

"He didn't though! He couldn't. And besides, it was Dumbledore's choice to die. Do you honestly think Dumbledore would have let-"

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Harry. "Let's not forget why we're here. While I'll admit the idea of Malfoy being Hermione's Healer is a bit...unsavory, I agree with Ginny. I will treat him _professionally_ as long as he gives me no reason not to. Let's just take our cues from him and as long as he takes good care of her I don't have a problem with it." He turned to Ron and hesitated a moment before asking gently, "Did they tell you how...how the...baby's doing?"

Ginny winced and Ron's demeanor changed immediately when he heard the word _baby_. His body slouched and his eyes glazed over with faraway thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded so hollow and so unlike his own.

"No. Just that she's lost...a lot of blood," He proceeded to sink into a chair and stare blankly at the wall in front of him.

Harry and Ginny looked at each other. They knew blood loss this early in a pregnancy wasn't a good sign and although Harry knew it would hurt Ron and was already hurting Hermione, he couldn't help but think it served Ron right for trying to force this on her, knowing she would never choose to terminate. The corner of his lip twitched up as he regarded his friend in quiet frustration, feeling both pity and disgust.

Suddenly the door to into the reception area opened and a Junior M.W. stepped forth.

"Mr. Weasley? _Healer Malfoy will see you now._ "

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	12. Chapter 12

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Draco took a deep breath before entering the room. He knew this interaction was going to be unpleasant. Ronald Weasley was probably going to scream at him, try to punch him, call him names, etc. Draco wasn't afraid of that, not a bit. He'd been called every single horrible thing he could imagine by a variety of different people, most of whom by comparison were much scarier than that ginger scrub-brush. Draco had been dealing with threats for over eight years. He still dealt with them. What he was afraid of, was that he might actually react this time. _And that would be very bad._

It would cost him everything he had worked for. It would prove to so many people that they had been right about him all along.

So Draco told himself that Ron Weasley was just another coffee pot that was going to scream shrilly at him and that he must allow it; he _must_ suffer through. It was just another test, afterall. Just another test that he had no choice but to pass with flying colors. He turned the knob and the door squealed loudly, announcing his arrival as he stepped inside the office and braced himself for the impending onslaught of abuse.

But it never came.

Ron was just sitting there, with his back to Malfoy... _just sitting there!_ With his terrible posture and red hair. Draco shuddered warily. He crossed over to the other side of the desk and sat down so that he was now facing Ron. What he saw astounded him. Weasley looked like he had been run over by a stampede of centaurs. He'd been crying and his long nose had a little ornament of snot dangling from it. It was...not what Draco had been expecting and he wasn't sure how to begin. But much to his surprise, it was _Weasley_ who broke the uncomfortable silence.

"You've got to save the baby, Malfoy."

Draco straightened in his chair, regarding the other wizard apprehensively. His wife had almost bled to death and the first thing he concerned himself with was the _barely_ baby? That seemed a little...odd. And a lot cold.

"Mr. Weasley..."

"You're the best, right?" Ron asked desperately. "You can do it. I read about you, they say you can fix anything. So you can save the baby, right?"

"I'm afraid that is not possible," Draco said with finality.

Ron broke down sputtering and stammering protestations as he turned towards the blonde healer, shaking his head.

"No, no, no. You've got to! Please! Please, _please_. I thought she would be happy. I really did. I thought _we_ would be happy. Really, I thought it would be this new adventure, you know? A new adventure that we could take on _together_. I didn't mean...Let me talk to her, let me just explain," he begged as he stood up suddenly to look down on Malfoy who wondered if this was supposed to be some kind of brilliant intimidation tactic but remained ever professional. He was the unflappable Healer Malfoy, afterall.

"She's unconscious at the moment and will remain so until we can heal her. I'm afraid if we woke her, she would be in a lot of pain, so it's best if we-"

" _YOU'VE GOT TO SAVE THE BABY!_ " Ron interrupted loudly, banging his fist upon the desk, obviously not listening to a word Draco had said. "I'll... _I'll lose her if you don't._ "

This admission seemed to send the young wizard over the edge and his face cracked itself into a ruddy mess of tears that betrayed all the anger and self-hatred he must have felt for himself. Draco knew if Weasley was broken enough to cry in front of _him_ , it probably meant Weasley knew he had already lost her. It would be best to be as forthright and honest as possible now.

"Mr. Weasly, she needs surgery."

This seemed to snap Ron out of his melancholy.

"Surgery?" Ron laughed through his tears as if it was the most preposterous notion he'd ever heard of and honestly, thought Draco, it probably was. "Do you really hate Muggles that much that you insist on treating them the way those barbaric Muggle doctors do? You think I should just let you cut her up like a mandrake, then?"

"Normally, no. But seeing as I have no materials for the potions I'd need, not to mention there's no time to brew them, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a more invasive approach."

"Just tell me you can save the baby, okay? I just need you to save the baby...too." he added hastily.

"No. I'm not going to tell you that, Mr. Weasley." Draco's stare was like concrete; hard and unmoving.

Ron clenched his fists and his blue eyes burned in hatred. "They all thought you had changed! But I knew it was all just bullshit," he spat. But seeing Draco's resolve staring defiantly back at him, he collapsed back into his chair, defeated. _"What have I ever done to you besides be_ poor _and_ ginger _?"_ he wept pathetically.

Draco had no reply to this. It was true he had been a bully when they were younger but if Weasley was stupid enough to believe he would compromise care simply because of an old school rivalry, he was even dumber than Draco imagined. Maybe if he spelled it out for him it would click.

"The fetus is growing inside her fallopian tube. If I do not remove it, she will die."

"Don't call the baby _it_! She's _my_ wife! I won't consent!" he blathered stubbornly.

Draco could not believe what he was hearing. He watched silently as Ron cradled his head in his hands, crying. It was beyond pathetic. The redhead suddenly looked up, as if he could hear Draco's thoughts and fixed him with eyes that were mere slits of bloodshot tears, his voice thick with spit and fury,

 _"WE SAVED YOUR LIFE, MALFOY!"_

" **And I am trying to save hers** ," Draco replied instantly, through clenched teeth. He gave up trying to make Ron see reason and let his pent up anger lose on the man.

"You know what I don't understand, Weasley? I don't understand how in the time it took for me to tell you that your wife would _die_ unless I removed the fetus, how you could demand that I save it _six_ times. Should I check your ears? Perhaps you're going deaf. Also, please explain how you and Granger are married but neither of you are wearing wedding bands. Are you really _still_ that poor?" his voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain. "You know, I don't think I actually need your consent seeing as how you probably didn't bother getting hers. I mean, you can't expect me to believe any woman would _willingly_ copulate with _you_."

"How... _how dare you,"_ Ron whispered, rising slowly to his feet.

"Face it, Weasley. She doesn't even want to have a baby."

 _"How the hell would you know?!"_

Draco let his eyes sweep deliberately up then back down the angry, ridiculous man who stood before him.

 _"Wild guess,"_ he drawled as the image of Hermione crying in the elevator and dropping the bouquet played on repeat in his head.

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* * *

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If shop bells could sound evil, the one at _Hacksledge & Sons_ would sound downright villainous, thought Pierce Harchird. The tones of the chime were more warning than welcome and as his green eyes floated around the shop, it was easy for him to understand why. The place was at once an armory, apothecary, and antique shop, filled with insidious intent and lipless whispers.

"Might you be buying or selling, stranger?" asked a voice not unlike his own.

"Buying...if the price is right," Harchird replied as he made his way toward the counter where a vulture-like man with yellow eyes observed him with cold interest.

"How can I help you, my friend?" There was nothing in this voice to make Harchird feel as if he were considered a friend, but he continued anyway.

"I'm looking for something...specific."

"Aren't we all? Please, tell me about what it is you seek."

Ezekiel Hacksledge did not like to waste time on people who he did not believe were serious about spending money in his shop so he eyed the man warily. He certainly was not dressed as well as most of the usual clientele, whether they only bought once or frequented the shop, and Mr. Hacksledge was not a man who liked having his leg pulled or his expectations disappointed.

"Do you...specialize in anything..." Harchird paused, licking his greasy lips as his eyes darted left to right before latching back onto the man in front of him, _"blood-magic related?"_

Mr. Hacksledge's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He could not believe the stranger was so bold as to just come right out and ask. There was a protocol that had to be followed, anyone who was anyone knew these sorts of things. So this man, Mr. Hacksledge concluded, _must be no one._ He cleared his throat loudly, as if reacting to some deep offense, blinked his eyes rapidly, and placed his hand upon his chest to demonstrate he was beyond shocked at such a suggestion.

"Sir! I am not sure what kind of transactions or goings on you may have mistakenly assumed went on here, but I assure you, we deal with no such items... _and would never,_ " he added with false conviction.

Harchird had not planned on this but then again, he hadn't really made any sort of plan. He couldn't find the book and was running out of time. The moon would be full in two days time. The ritual must be completed and he had lost the one thing, the only thing, that had shed even a little light on how to control her. Merlin be damned if this man wasn't going to help him.

"Forgive me," Harchird said contritely. "I did not mean to offend you, my good sir, but I am a bit hard-pressed for time. You see, I have recently acquired a most ancient and beautiful object," he could see he was losing Hacksledge's interest and without thinking blurted, "that I believe will make me and whoever chooses to invest their time and knowledge very rich. Very rich indeed."

That got the old man's attention. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously but beckoned with one lace trimmed arm for Harchird to step behind the curtained doorway behind the counter of the shop. But the second the curtain dropped behind them both, Harchird was grabbed suddenly, clapped about the head, and thrown roughly upon the ground.

"I'd like you to meet my two sons," Mr. Hacksledge said courteously as Harchird's eyes flickered wildly in his skull. "Mortimer and Elvid. Say hello to the foolish man, my boys."

"Hello," the two young men said dully in unison. Harchird thought he was seeing double from having his ears boxed, but promptly realized Mortimer and Elvid were identical twins. They were exceptionally tall and ugly, with dishwater blonde, shoulder length hair and a grey tinge to their complexions. Both twins regarded Harchird through half-lidded stares and he would have assumed they were both dim-witted were it not for the way their hands deftly choreographed binding and searching him before leaving his pockets empty and his arms and legs twisted in rope. It took them mere seconds.

"Squibs, yes...but still smarter than you, I'm afraid," Hacksledge said with a phony pout. "Now, you will share with us what you have _stolen_ and from _whom_ exactly you have stolen it from, because if you were anyone that anybody gave a goblin's shit about around here, we would know who you were or who it is you represent. Do we boys?" He asked his cretin-like sons who shook their heads in unanimous denial. "It is by my own divination that I am inclined to believe you are nothing but a trifling thief, dabbling in matters _you have no business with._ "

Harchird gulped loudly, sweat beading upon his brow.

 _This_ day had really turned out to be a hex in his wand-work.

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	13. Chapter 13

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Surgery was not something that many people knew how to do in the Wizarding world. Most magical folk might call it primitive, but that would suggest it had at some point been common practice in their history until they had found a better way, and the truth is, it wasn't. Witches and wizards were able to heal through a combination of light, magical instruments, and magical skill. Potions aided healers with their restorative or eradicating properties but they could take hours, days, or even months to prepare. This put them at somewhat of a disadvantage if the potions were not already sufficiently stocked.

When Draco Malfoy had decided he was going to learn how to perform and become a surgeon, many people thought he'd gone mad. They didn't understand why he would want to learn such an extremely risky and inhuman method, even Muggles themselves had a success rating for each surgical procedure and it was never a hundred percent. They had messy malpractice and wrongful death lawsuits, not to mention they didn't have the option to hasten the growth of new bones and organs. They waited for people to basically die in order to harvest their organs and put them into another dying body. The whole lot was just so savage and vulgar that none of the Wizarding community found anything worthwhile about it whatsoever.

That is, except for Draco. He could see how knowing how to do those "savage" things might be beneficial were he ever in a situation where he couldn't use magic. The more he considered that hypothetical as a reality, the more he realized how difficult life really was without magic and he could acknowledge his privilege and appreciate the hardship that Muggles had suffered throughout the centuries. Still, they had somehow managed it and as far as he could tell, that put them at a considerable advantage.

At first, learning "the Muggle way" had only been a shrewd survival decision when he'd been threatened with having his wand snapped in half. But after he had lived among them and as one of them for the past couple of years, it was almost painfully absurd to remember the ill-regard he'd once had for Muggles. Of course he still had magic and used it, but he enjoyed the duplicity and his ability to blend in without much effort or precaution. For instance, when he went to medical school, he found that Muggle classrooms left a lot to be desired as far as learning went and because they couldn't counter their actions with fix-all spells, they wasted a lot of time simply watching and taking notes. Because of this, he found it necessary to use Occlumency on his teachers to help him experience the techniques as well as learn them, and he'd never been more grateful for this magical ability than he was as he stood over Hermione Granger, about to cut her open with a scalpel.

The last time he'd opted to perform an emergency surgery, it had been on a small child with an inflamed appendix whose parents thought it was just a "tummyache" and brought him in with only minutes to spare before it burst. Hr. Patchley was reluctant to let Draco try his "medieval butchery" but relented when he saw how confident Draco was. The old healer had grown to trust his judgement since he had proven to be so adept at all the other methods he'd been taught.

Unfortunately, every single Medi-witch and wizard who tried to assist had fainted in the makeshift operating room, so out of desperation Draco summoned Harkle to be his scrub nurse. Much to his delighted surprise, everything Draco asked Harkle to do, he did perfectly and without question, so perfection was something Draco had become accustomed to maintaining in the OR. After the appendectomy surgery was successful, Patchley allowed Draco to design his own O.R. medi-tent to his own specifications, "for emergencies only" he'd been told. _Well, this was definitely an emergency,_ thought Draco before summoning Harkle with the tent.

"Ten blade," he commanded softly and the house elf placed it gently in his hand.

He pressed the blade down onto her skin, which looked almost bleached under the overhead light, and watched as the thin red line bubbled over and ran down the side of her body. It took him only a moment to locate the fetus, but once he had, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It didn't look like a baby and he hadn't expected it to, but _it didn't even look like a fetus._ It was as if someone had replaced it with a dried husk or raisin, like it had been sucked dry of all its essence. The most horrible discovery, however, was that _it was still alive._ Draco didn't understand how that was even possible and the shock caused him to momentarily stop what he was doing. Had it even grown nerves? Did it feel? Had it been suffering all this time?

"Master?" Harkle queried uncertainly.

As quickly and as gently as he could, Draco removed the fetus.  
It was not murder. It was mercy and if at any point in its short life it had been suffering at all,

 _now it no longer was._

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* * *

.

It was extremely dangerous for him to be this close to the very people who wanted to imprison him, but he needed information. Tomorrow was the full moon and time was running out.

 _"Ut avis,"_ he whispered into the wind. At first, nothing seemed to come from his words, but suddenly he clutched his chest and gagged. His pale mouth stretched wide open and a peculiar thing happened; out from between his teeth hopped a small, black bird with shiny, ink eyes. Cupping his hand up to his lips, he enclosed it around the bird. He smiled and threw it up into the air, watching as it flew swiftly to the Ministry owlery and its eyes and mind became linked to his own.

"Go," he commanded. "Be my eyes, be my ears, _be my magic._ "

Lucius knew his son was at the Ministry that night. He also knew that he could never hope to pierce Draco's keen mind, Snape had taught him Occlumency too well. But there was always a chance he might catch someone else off their guard, someone who might know something. The bird flitted in and out of hallways and corridors unnoticed since most of the staff was gone and it flew down the lift shafts until it heard the voices of people. Worried voices. Angry voices. Voices that spoke without listening.

 _"She isn't your wife! You two are not even engaged!"_ An angry female voice.

 _"We will be! She will be!"_ An angry male voice.

 _"You two need to calm down! Let's all go home and get some rest, we all need it and Hermione won't be awake until sometime tomorrow."_ A worried male voice.

There was more conversation and bickering but the bird did not listen. A door had opened and it was now flying past the people and into another hallway. It could sense warm bodies beyond the flap of a green tent that was situated in the main interior so it darted inside. There was so much unease at the front of the tent that the little bird couldn't find a single mind still enough to attach itself to. It moved towards the back of the tent and savored the quiet for a moment before it felt a pull on its senses.

Hopping curiously over to the last bed, the bird saw a sleeping female. With uncanny concentration, it probed into her mind, making her essentially relive her most recent memories. She was speaking to that horrid man again, as if surrounded by mist, she couldn't see him very clearly but she knew it was the same man. Then she was letting grandmother's puppy lick her fingertips and nuzzle into her lap, then came the sickening realization of what was truly attached to the tongue and nestling in between her legs, and all too soon she was once again screaming herself hoarse and unconscious.

"Yes. _Go deeper_ ," Lucius commanded of his familiar.

The woman tossed and turned in her sleep obviously in some kind of distress but her mind was still cloaked in the thick folds of anesthesia and would not rouse. The bird persisted in its search and watched as the woman entered an office. A slightly hazy vision of a man with curly brown hair was speaking to her, she was replying, then mid-sentence, she became sick.

 _"Are you...pregnant?"_ the foggy man had asked. Lucius' eyes shone in the dark like two shiny sickles when he heard the question. Perhaps this night would prove fortuitous afterall. He watched attentively as the man offered her a drink and she blacked out.

 _"Focus!"_ Lucius whispered, furiously. The bird stared intently, penetrating ever further until finally, it gleaned a crystal clear face and name.

 _"Pierce Harchird,"_ Lucius recited with a cold smile as he beckoned his bird back to him.

But someone had entered the tent and the bird cocked its head to see who it was. Lucius cringed when he recognized the familiar pointed face.

 _"If she wakes up, give her a little more milk of poppy for the pain and come get me. I will explain to her that it was necessary to remove the fetus."_

Lucius heard the words and was filled with the most evil joy. It was finished. All before the full moon. Now there was only one thing left to do and all the planning and careful preparation would finally see the fruits of his labor. He thought carefully and decided he would use the man to do his bidding. All he had to do was find him and that would be easy enough.

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* * *

.

"I don't know! I swear I don't know!"

 _"Crucio!"_

Harchird's screams seemed to pierce the very night sky, poking holes into it that let light shine through. It was a very beautiful night indeed, but unfortunately he could not see it. Mr. Hacksledge's sons had been most hospitable, keeping their guest entertained with all sorts of odd instruments. Some that bent his toenails backwards, others that pulled his molars out, nothing too damaging or at least, nothing that Mr. Hacksledge couldn't put right again with his wand, he'd reassured.

 _Hacksledge & Sons_ had in its possession a most curious object that was something like a looking glass. When Harchird was forced to look into it, it would show him horrible things, such as a tremendously sharp knife slicing open his belly and spilling his innards out in great glistening tendrils. However, when he actually looked down at his own body, nothing of the kind was happening to him. But he could see it happening in the mirror, and what's worse, he could _feel_ it. It was a most unusual and effective torture device.

"Been in the family for ages," Mr. Hacksledge said proudly. "Why, do you want to do this to yourself? We will stop of course, but you must give us a name. Who is it you've theived from, eh? _GIVE THE NAME!_ "

Harchird did not know how much he could take, but he was stubborn. He had spent most of his life believing and learning and searching and _finally_ he had found one. _Just one,_ in all his life, but just knowing it had not all been for folly, just knowing all the taunts and ridicule he had suffered throughout the years were finally vindicated, made it all worth it. _She existed._ She was real. And she was hungry. He could not let this horrible man and his two brutish sons take his life's work from him. He couldn't.

An electric shock of pain jolted through his body and he swore he could hear his very skeleton crackle, the smell of burnt flesh and charred bones permeated every pore, but he could not tell how much time had passed. He heard a door close above him as his captors went upstairs, and waited in silence for sleep or death until a flash of green light erupted into the room then vanished, leaving behind the hooded figure of a man. He sauntered up to the tortured heap of flesh lying on the floor and lifted its chin with the tip of his black cane.

"Pierce Harchird, I presume?" he asked, chuckling and sounding rather pleased with himself. "Come with me, looks like it's _your_ lucky day."

But all Pierce Harchird could do was lay there, whimpering in pathetic gratitude as the figure kicked him through a neon green doorway and they disappeared, never to darken to doorstep of _Hacksledge & Sons_ ever again.

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	14. Chapter 14

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.

"Blast it, Higgins! You've administered _too much_ ," Sargis scolded, taking the bottle away from her fellow Junior M.W. Sargis may have started late in her career as a Mediwitch, but she made up for it with an air of superiority that intimidated even Draco sometimes. Hermione spluttered and coughed, her eyes blinking away tears as her throat burned from almost choking.

"She'll be sleeping the whole day now, thanks to _you_ ," Bleckley accused, huffing the black bangs that hung over her forehead in exasperation.

"Sorry, mum," Higgins apologized as his freckled face stared down at the floor.

"That's... _okay_ ," Hermione sighed as an idiotic grin spread across her face. She didn't mind. After all she hadn't really been paying attention herself and hardly registered that her gown was now soaked with the potion. This was certainly a strange place to have woken up in and her eyes had fluttered open slowly, like a butterfly newly hatched from a chrysalis, drying its wings.

These people didn't introduce themselves to her but she accepted their presence and let them do as they pleased without comment. She had complicitly opened her mouth when instructed and although one of them had apparently made a mistake, her body loved the floating sensation it felt as gravity loosened its hold on her. It seemed to her that she was only hovering above the bedclothes with her consciousness barely gripping onto the rails of the small bed and keeping her focused on what was happening around her.

"I'll go get the Healer, while you're still awake, no thanks to this one," Sargis muttered at Higgins as all three Junior M.W.'s left her curtained off section of the Medi-tent.

Sargis entered the office and found Draco nodding off upright in a chair. She cleared her throat loudly and his eyelids flew open.

"Sorry sir, but she's awake. Shan't be long tho', Higgins has given her too much Milk of Poppy, spilled it all over the poor thing and basically drowned her in it. Just thought you might like to see her before she's out again."

"Yes," Draco confirmed as he stood up. "Thank you, Sargis."

Draco felt a stab of apprehension as he walked over to the privacy curtains that concealed his latest patient. He waited a moment, peeking through the small sliver between the parting which proved to be an adequate enough window for him to see her as she lie on the bed. _He'd just operated on bloody Hermione Granger. And now she was awake._ He watched as she tucked her hands up under her head and fanned her mane of curls over the pillow beneath her, sighing dreamily. _Higgins, that idiot,_ Draco thought irritably as he noticed the wet gown clinging to her skin.

He took a deep breath before briskly separating the curtains, stepped inside the cubicle, and swiftly pulled the curtains together again behind him. Hermione sat up slowly and turned her head toward the noise, her eyes starting at the floor and slowly meandering up his body until they concluded at his face. They both stared at one another for a moment in silence and he watched transfixed as her lips twisted into a slow spreading smile until suddenly she burst into laughter. This took Draco aback, he hadn't expected this reaction at all, especially not from _her._ But he found it strangely calming to his anxious nerves and a wave of amusement washed over him as he realized that _she was high as a kite._

"Draco Malfoy," she remarked through a mouthful of laughter. She said his name as if some unseen person had asked her to identify who it was that had just come in. Her forehead scrunched curiously. "Is that what you say when you introduce yourself to people?" she asked with a spacey lilt to her voice. She didn't even wait for him to answer before offering up an imitation of what she must think he sounded like.

 _"Hullo,"_ she greeted in a considerably deeper and stern sounding voice. _"My name is Draco Malfoy,"_ she tittered on the last syllable of his surname and tossed her head back, laughing hard enough to draw tears. Draco wasn't even offended, this display of unabashed hilarity was oddly alluring but he was careful not to show any emotion. He was a Healer, afterall.

"I'm sorry," she apologized as she regarded his blank face and wiped the corners of her eyes. "Your name just sounds... _so funny_ when you really think about it. Sound it out and it makes your mouth feel so strange. Go on, do it!" she commanded encouragingly. "Draaaaaycoooooo Maaaaaalfoyyyyy," she said, stressing each syllable with over-exaggerated enunciation and inciting even more laughter from herself.

Draco couldn't help but remember how he'd found her and how different she had looked then, sprawled out on the floor in a puddle of her own blood. This was much better in comparison, even if she was doped up and making fun of his name, at least she obviously felt well enough to exercise her sense of humor. He didn't know if it was because he was overtired or simply because the situation was so unbelievably weird but he smiled in spite of himself.

"You're one to talk, Granger. The entirety of your first name is a gobful of four syllables that stretches the mouth into the most unattractive shapes imaginable. I'd laugh myself, but I think I should feel quite bad for it. Poor name, can't help it."

She gasped and Draco noticed how the intake of air caused her breasts to rise underneath her thin and soaked gown. "You're right!" she exclaimed. _"Herrrr Myyyy Ohhhh Neeee,"_ she sounded out as her mouth twisted, overstating each syllable which only produced another beautiful and unrestrained laugh from her. _"Her My Oh Nee._ Ugh, my mouth is already so tired."

"Perhaps you should rest it then," he chided softly. He couldn't help but feel a little awkward since she was obviously not in the right mind for a serious conversation and Draco could not bring himself to admit it, even as a passing thought, but it was almost as if she was _flirting_ with him. He had to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Are you at all interested to hear about what's happened to you that you should wake up in hospital or would you rather I left you to your onomastic observations?" he asked, arching his brow and resurrecting the ghost of a smirk.

The question seemed to sober her slightly and her face, that just a moment ago had been so animated with lovely laughter, suddenly turned sullen and pale.

"Something bad happened to me," she said in a small voice.

Draco resisted the urge to press her for information since she was still in recovery, but he could not help feeling a pang of guilt. He felt he was partially responsible for the "something bad" that had happened. He should have reported Harchird the minute he knew he was at the heart of this foul mess but he didn't exactly have any concrete evidence, just a lift conversation no one else had heard and a Medi-tent full of unintelligible, spastic wizards. Would anyone have believed him anyway? They probably considered him suspect as well. The empty room had infuriated Draco but what he found hidden in it had made him see red.

 _Where the hell had the bastard gone?_

"I'm all wet," Hermione observed, interrupting his thoughts and pouting slightly.

It was true. Higgins had really tried to drown the poor woman. _Twit,_ Draco thought shaking his head.

"Here, I'll get you a new gown," he told her as he peered up over the curtains. Seeing some freshly laundered gowns hanging in the corner outside her cubicle, he summoned one with his wand, and offered it to her, but she didn't take it.

To his dismay, she instead lifted her arms sleepily over her head and he stared at her in confusion until he finally realized she wanted him to assist her in removing the soiled gown. _Yes, definitely way too much poppy milk,_ he noted in chagrin. Draco didn't feel as if he had a choice so he turned his head away and concentrated his gaze on the opposite side of the tent before complying. He blindly pulled the gown up over her head then felt for the fresh one and set it within her reach.

He draped the soaked gown over the bedside chair and, figuring he had waited a sufficient amount of time for her to dress, turned his face back toward her. His cheeks burned pale pink as he noticed she had put the gown on _backwards_ and it was open in the front causing her breasts to be exposed, the blushing tips peeking out at him and giving him a start. His eyes automatically flicked up toward the ceiling and stayed there until he heard a very small sound. She sniffled. _Oh bloody hell, was she crying?_

Draco felt immediately panicked. It was one thing when she was crying in a puddle of her own blood, he could understand that. But he had fixed that part for her, that part would be fine. Now all that was left was the emotional aspect of her healing and that was something he had very little success with aiding. He couldn't see where it hurt so how could he heal it? This was why he hated being in the presence of crying people, especially crying _female_ people. Simply because he felt absolutely useless when it came to comfort or support so instead of saying anything, he continued to stare up at the ceiling.

" _He hurt me._ He tried to take away my life, like...like it _belonged_ to _him_ ," she said in a drug induced stupor. When Draco heard the words, he assumed she was talking about Harchird.

"It's okay," he found himself saying, much to his own surprise. "He can't hurt you anymore. I wouldn't let him."

The sound of the words instantly filled Hermione with recollection as she realized that the stranger who had carried her out of the darkness was standing right in front of her. Draco wasn't looking at her so she reached for him, stumbling slightly as she rose to her knees on the bed. Her hand caught his and before he could stop her, she brought it up and pressed it firmly against her heartbeat.

 _"It was you,"_ she whispered. " **You** found me, _you..."_ her voice trailed off.

Draco was frozen to the spot, his eyes going wide as he felt the throbbing of her wildly beating heart. He looked down at her and felt his cool hand against her warm skin and a strange feeling came over him as he gazed into her heavy lidded eyes. He couldn't or he wouldn't name the feeling, he didn't even want to acknowledge it, so instead he used his captive hand to push her back down on the bed gently, and his free hand to nimbly pull the covers up modestly to her chin. She seemed to resist him for a moment but the poppy milk was taking firm hold of her, causing her to maunder her words, incoherently.

"Say again?" Draco asked.

"I want Crookshanks," she said a little louder.

 _"Who?"_

"My cat. He's a boy. _He's a cat,"_ she replied in drowsy irritation.

"I'll...I'll have someone fetch him for you." He would have said anything to get away from her at this point.

When she finally laid back and released his hand, he let out an audible sigh of relief, but before he could turn to go, he heard her say, "Tie it."

"What?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"The gown. Tie it," she ordered groggily. "My arms are too heavy," she explained in a small, matter of fact voice.

Draco rolled his eyes but resigned and acceded, pulling the covers down just far enough to grab the strings on the collar of her hospital gown as she watched through heavy eyelashes.

"Do it right and tight. Like the bunny hops around under the tree and into the bunnyhole," she said sleepily, nodding her head.

 _"What!?"_ he hissed in exasperation. The hell kind of Muggle nonsense is this? he wondered silently. He finished pulling the strings into a tight bow and pulled the covers back up to her chin.

"There. Now go to sleep before-"

"You spank me for being a bad girl?" she smirked, winking one eye open at him and, Draco nearly had a heart attack, _leering_ at him with a drug glazed eye. "You...better...come back and watch over me while I sleep...it's about time you returned the favor. The tables have officially _turned_ ," she mumbled sluggishly as she drifted off and away.

Draco was too shocked to reply. What tables? _What the bloody hell was she on about?_

.

* * *

.

Sargis couldn't get a hold of any of Hermione's previous visitors using the Floo so Draco was actually obligated to fetch the cat. He'd agreed, hadn't he? He scowled, absolutely disgusted with himself. Was a little nudity, shock, and discomfort really all it took to turn him into a bloody errand boy?

He found the form Ron had completed earlier, scoffing at his scratchy penmanship and the fact that he'd written Weasley as Hermione's surname. Draco sneered as he remembered Ron's own sister dispelling this little falsehood in the reception area. Draco looked up the address and discovered Hermione didn't live far from the Ministry. Only a few blocks. So he decided after all that had happened he could do with a nice, long stroll; anything to buy him more time away from his new patient.

He was most comfortable being a detached caregiver and what he felt when Hermione had grabbed his hand and gazed up at him with that look of...gratitude set his teeth on edge. It wasn't correct for him to feel anything but concern for her well-being. First and foremost, he was her Healer. She hadn't been herself, anyway. She probably really hated him and who could blame her? He'd been absolutely horrid to her when they'd been previously acquainted. He shuddered at all the dreadful memories and pulled his coat collar closer around his neck, quickening his pace.

As he made his way to her flat, he heard someone psst! at him as he past an alley. He turned his head in the direction of the sound and could hardly believe his eyes. It was Pierce bleedin' Harchid! Draco stopped dead in his tracks and reached for his wand, but Harchird only beckoned to him with his hand. Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion, he knew it was probably incredibly stupid to go near the man, but the stubborn need to have his questions answered pulled him into the alley.

Harchird looked like he'd been dragged through the wringer.

"You look like shit," Draco observed blandly but Harchird didn't seem to hear the comment or chose to simply ignore it.

"It's time, my friend," he said in his oily voice.

"And what time might that be?" Draco spat, narrowing his eyes.

"Time for you to have all your questions answered. Come with me and they shall be."

Draco allowed the man to reach up and place his hand on his shoulder and with a _pop!_ they were gone, leaving nothing but an empty alley behind them.

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	15. Chapter 15

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* * *

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The weight of sleep was like a heavy blanket Hermione had been trying desperately to cast off for what seemed like hours, but finally her consciousness was able to break through the surface.

"Feeling any better?" Harry asked as he noticed her blinking her eyes open.

"I feel as if I've been run down by the entire line-up for the Chudley Cannons," she said honestly, lifting a hand up to her forehead. She made a painful effort to sit up so she could look at him properly, but it hurt too much so she lay back once more. "What time is it?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Almost seven," Harry replied with a wry grin.

"Are we at St. Mungo's? What's going on?" she asked in a daze. The grin on Harry's face dropped but he tried not to show how letdown he was and struggled to come up with an adequate explanation that he felt she could handle in the condition she was in.

"No," he answered. "You're in a Medi-tent at the Ministry. You're probably not going to believe this but-"

"Draco Malfoy," she said aloud in wonder. A face had been drifting hazily into the forefront of her mind while Harry spoke and before she knew it, she was interrupting him as soon as the identity of the face dawned upon her.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "Yeah, he...er... _saved_ you. Said he was just wandering around and found you lying unconscious on Level Four. Do you remember anything that happened?" he asked hopefully.

She shut her eyes, her mind strained with the effort of trying to recall the events that had taken place prior to being in this hospital bed, but for some strange reason, her memories were shrouded in black mist. She could remember being in her designated office and she could remember, with a slight blush, being carried by Draco Malfoy who had, it seemed only a moment before, bore witness to her outburst in the lift. But everything in between was a mess of dark static and mangled words.

"I can't...I can't remember. My memories...it's almost as if-"

"They've been tampered with?" finished Harry, with a knowing frown.

"How..."

"Do you remember signing this?" Harry asked, handing her a neatly folded bit of parchment. He watched intently as she unfolded it and read the contents.

"This is a regulatory order of transport for the Magical Creatures sect," Hermione said in bewildered recognition. "Signed by... _me?_ But I _didn't_ sign this!"

"I know. But it was signed with your wand," Harry inferred.

"Under Creature Type, it just says OTHER! How could they let this pass inspection!?" she demanded in complete vexation as she read further on the form.

"Your name holds a lot of clout around here, Hermione. You are one, out of only five people, who could authorize such a transport and once they had confirmed it was your wand that had actually signed it, they didn't question the validity. I didn't even catch wind of this myself until Scrivenor was going over the orders and wanted to ask you about it. That's when he found out that you were in surgery last night and the whole department has been in a panic."

"Who the hell used my wand to forge my signature?" demanded Hermione, outraged and obviously ignoring his disclosure about her having surgery. "I would never-"

"I know Hermione. You were attacked. You're not going to get in trouble for this, but I was hoping you could give me a name," Harry said glumly, unable to mask the disappointment in his voice this time.

She shook her head, struggling to grasp her loose thoughts. "I know it...I do...I just-" she was getting worked up and Harry regretted his decision to question her altogether.

"Just lay back, okay? Get some rest. I'll update you as soon as I can," he reassured her.

"Harry Potter, how can you possibly expect me to rest when-"

"I shouldn't have bothered you with this. You're in recovery," he said cutting her off and shaking his head guiltily as he rose to leave. "I'm just gonna-"

"HARRY!" she cried causing him to stop in his tracks. With a resigned sigh, he slowly turned back toward her. He knew there was no point in trying to sway her now and watched helplessly as her brilliant mind tried to put all the pieces together.

"Do you have any idea who might be behind this?" she asked sternly.

"All I know is whatever it was they managed to smuggle out of here had originally come from Malfoy Manor," he said as delicately as he could. He half expected Hermione to throttle him for leaving her in the hands of Draco Malfoy after imparting this bit of information. But much to his surprise she only turned her head towards him, narrowing her eyes.

"You don't think..." she trailed off. Harry saw where her train of thought was heading and nodded in assent, waiting for the throttling.

"He was the last person with you, Hermione," said Harry.

"But he saved me!" she objected, surprising him once more.

"I know. But Robards just about ate his hat when he found out he hadn't returned to the hospital and conveniently enough, Malfoy is nowhere to be found which is just as good as an admission of guilt as far as old Ro' is concerned." Harry tried not to sound suspicious himself, but it was hard. Afterall, Draco Malfoy had a pretty shady history working against him.

"Where did he go?" Hermione asked trying to look past the curtains of her cubicle.

"Apparently he went to go get your cat," Harry said with his eyebrows lifted and his lips pursed.

"He went to go get Crookshanks?" she asked in disbelief.

"That's what the Junior Medi-witch said. Do you remember asking Malfoy for him?"

Hermione scrunched up her forehead as she thought back to earlier. She'd woken up a little sore and then a young man had given her something or rather, spilled something all over her. She could feel her lower half was bandaged but her mind did not want to explore the reasons behind that. Draco had come in and suddenly, something just snapped in her brain, translating his strange appearance as the work of some comedic genius.

"Kind of," she answered, as a blush started to creep around her neck. "Harry, I really don't think he's behind this," she said looking at him seriously.

Harry shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "I don't really either, but I can't exactly give him the benefit of the doubt if he's not here to prove his innocence, you know," he shrugged. "Robards is trying to keep this all underwraps until Kingsley gets back. There hasn't been a word of it in the papers and apparently _I_ don't have clearance. I guess his feathers are still rumpled from Kingsley suggesting me as his replacement," Harry said disgustedly.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully as she made another futile attempt to penetrate the dark mist inside her mind. "I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling about all of this," she said fearfully. "A really bad feeling, Harry."

"So do I," he agreed reluctantly, clasping his hands.

The two regarded each other in silence for a moment; Harry trying to figure out a way to keep her out of the impending danger and Hermione trying to figure out what exactly the danger might be, neither of them very hopeful they'd be successful with either task.

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* * *

.

Draco felt his knees quake beneath him as his feet hit the ground roughly. It was dark but he could tell from the damp air that they were somewhere underground and as if to confirm this, his head hit a low ceiling when he tried to straighten himself up.

"Careful now," Harchird warned snidely. "Wouldn't want you to miss the show."

Draco gave him a look of loathing which unfortunately the man could not see and wished he could gain some small satisfaction by hexing him. Suddenly he remembered his purchase from the Muggle shop and carefully felt the breast pocket of his jacket, relieved he hadn't had a chance to go home and change since yesterday morning. That snivelly tosser had better not try any chicanery or he'd be very sorry, Draco mused internally. He watched as Harchird lit his wand tip, making sure to keep a ready hand on his own as he followed him through various rooms, listening as doors opened in front of him and shut behind him.

After what seemed to be an expedition to the center of the earth, they finally came to an iron door that Harchird had to open with his wand. He motioned for Draco to step through first and put his wand away as if to show him he had no ill intent. Draco's eyes narrowed and he could not quell the immediate unease he felt as the door closed behind them with a loud clang! They were in some kind of cavern that seemed alive with heat and as they walked on Draco found he could hardly breathe, the air was so thick with the scent of smoke. Tears sprang to his eyes as he coughed and sputtered for air, eyeing Harchird questionably but the man merely smirked in reply. Had he brought him to a giant oven? Did the bastard plan on burning him alive? Draco was getting impatient and, although he'd never admit it, a little scared.

Fear was definitely a powerful motivator for Draco, it made him worry, it made him doubt, but most of all, it made him angry. As they made their way deeper and deeper down the seemingly endless passage, he firmly decided he was not going to sit idly by as he was led to his apparent doom. He was determined he was not going to die in this smoke filled pit.

"What the hell are we doing here you bloody psychopath?!" demanded Draco, turning on the shorter man.

"All your questions will be answered soon," Harchird replied blankly.

"I think it's about time you started answering my questions now," Draco scoffed, shoving him up against the slimy wall.

Harchird made like he was going for his wand, but Draco was quicker.

 _"STUPEFY!"_ he hollered, causing the man to fly back, his curly head bouncing off the floor as he hit it. Draco had practiced this countless times after purchasing Harchird's special little gift and hurled a string of incantations so quickly that Harchird had absolutely no time to react.

 _"Deoperio! Immineo! Praecludo!"_ he uttered forcefully, and suddenly it was as if invisible hands were prying Harchird's mouth open as something small floated inside, then his mouth slammed shut and he was unable to open it.

"Can you smell that, Harchird, you smug bastard?" Draco asked in a menacing voice. "I paid you a little visit the other night but much to my disappointment you were nowhere to be found. I can only imagine what the hell you were doing but I have it on good authority you were busy attacking a young woman and leaving her for dead," he snarled, his face twisting into a horrible mask of rage.

"Mmmm! Hmm!" Harchird struggled to speak through his tightly sealed lips.

"What's that, now? Do you not enjoy the taste of peanuts? But I thought we'd enjoy a little snack after walking to the center of the bloody earth. Oh that's right, how stupid of me. You're _allergic_ , aren't you?" Draco mocked. "Not to worry, I have your Epipen although there is a simple incantation I can teach you so that you don't have to worry about preposterous Muggle shit like this. But I suppose I should be grateful. It was what alerted me to your affliction, after all. Isn't that sweet?" Draco said playfully. "Now, if you don't want to die of anaphylactic shock you better tell me exactly what I need to know to save the rest of those wizards," he said in a dangerously low voice that still managed to echo in the dark chamber.

Harchird lay motionless but his eyes drifted toward the abyss that loomed in front of them both.

 _"Isn't it a bit ironic that to save the lives of others you'd be willing to kill this man?"_ asked a cold, silky voice from the darkness.

Draco nearly dropped his wand from shock as he realized he knew who the voice belonged to, even if he hadn't heard it in eight years, the unmistakable dread he felt at the sound could not be denied. Time seemed to turn back and suddenly he was ten years old and just been caught misbehaving. He turned his head toward the direction where the voice had come from and was suddenly staring into eyes that mirrored his own.

"It is good to see you, Draco. Although I was a bit disappointed that you let those meddlesome aurors into our family estate," Lucius said, clicking his tongue. "To my delighted surprise, you have redeemed yourself," he said with an ominous smile.

Draco gaped at the man, frozen to the spot, torn between detestation and yearning. He hated himself for the stark ambivalence of his emotions, but he couldn't help it. He had basically felt like an orphan for the last decade. His mother didn't know who he was but she remembered having a young son named Draco and talked about him all the time, always begging to see him as he stood, unnoticed, an adult before her.

It made him feel like a ghost.

Now here was the other missing half, standing just within his reach and Draco actually had to steel himself against the sudden impulse he had to embrace his father. He was horrified with himself, he should hate him, shouldn't he? For so long, Draco thought, no, he _knew_ he hated Lucius, so he was quite stunned to discover that he'd actually missed him. Before he could ponder the realization further, Lucius extended an arm, graciously inviting Draco forward.

"Come, my son. I have much to show you," and his mind seemed to shift back into the obedient boy he had once been. "Leave him," Lucius said when he noticed Draco look back toward Harchird. "He will not die without my permission. _Come."_

They went on together in silence and although the scent became even thicker Draco couldn't see any smoke whatsoever. He coughed uncontrollably but noticed it seemed to have no effect on his father. He stopped when the passage ended into an illuminated opening and looked back at Lucius quizzically.

"You must go on alone, now," Lucius commanded quietly and as if in a trance, Draco obeyed. As he continued forward he came upon a large glass cube encased in gilded brackets that were engraved with a series of strange runes. The glass had a dark tint and Draco recognized it was Dragonglass. He'd never seen so much of it in his life and although that alone was amazing, it was not nearly as amazing as what the cube contained.

She stood before him, naked and unashamed; the most terrifyingly beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her body, a living altar to the most perfect female form imaginable, seemed cut and polished from living emberstone. Her hair was billowing fire, wild and restless as it danced behind her body like a cloak in the wind. She looked at him with dark, smoldering eyes and it seemed to him in only one glance, she knew everything about him.

He could hear the trill of a purr nestled deep within her throat and the sound of it grew until it filled him. She observed him casually for a moment and then took a gentle step toward him with her arms outstretched. He felt her voice before he heard it, a delicate grate, not unlike a cat's tongue that was at once a blending of many voices in one. It entered his body from betwixt his hips before penetrating his ears and enveloping him with its sound, until he could hear her speaking to him throughout the whole of his body and he recognized, with a heartsick lurch, to whom _one_ of the voices belonged.

 _"Darling one, how lonely you have been._

 _Do you miss your mother?_

 _My poor, sweet baby, do not cry._

 _I am here._

 _So long have I waited to hold you against my swollen breast once more._

 _Let me soothe your hurts and kiss away your tears with my lips._

 _Come to me, my sweet boy._

 _How my womb has ached for you since you were ripped away._

 _Return to me, my baby son._

 _I long to feel you inside me again."_

The voice, at once both thundering and gentle, reverberated in the hollows of his chest like aftershock. It deftly unlaced his inhibitions, casting them aside like bridles and he barely registered the manacle of desire they were replaced by. He watched completely captivated as she ran a beautiful hand down her absurdly inviting form, pausing only at her bare knee which she pushed aside to separate one long leg from the other. She then glided her pointed finger back up toward the center of her being, creating a line of perspective for his transfixed eyes. He started to pant as a frenzy of blood pounded through his bruised vessels, urging him to act on irresistible impulse.

And his mind accepted this reality as it came to one harrowing conclusion: She was the only thing that existed in this world and he must melt himself into her or _die._

..


	16. Chapter 16

..

* * *

.

"Sorry, mum," Higgins apologized. "But seein' as how I give you too much before, I don't feel confident in myself administering anymore without a Healer present. I'll just wait for Healer Malfoy or Senior Healer Patchley. They'll be right along any moment, I'm sure of it," he said with a nervous smile as he quickly backed away from Hermione's bedside and out through the curtains.

Hermione sighed. She felt extremely sore but what's worse, she was _bored_. Harry hadn't brought her any books to read or activities to do, not even a pack of cards, but it's not like she blamed him. He'd left in a hurry at the behest of his superior and she really wasn't supposed to have any visitors except for family and well, _that_ was a little impossible at the moment. It was a relief that she wouldn't have to endure the entire Weasley clan, however.

Harry had let it slip that Ron had already planned a huge surprise shower at the Burrow _and_ a proposal as well. She shuddered at the thought. His mother had been dropping not so subtle hints for him to pop the question _for years_ but Hermione had only become more clever over time, able to effortlessly sidestep and feign ignorance. It was one thing to put off an engagement because of work, but Hermione knew that disclosure of a baby would have Molly Weasley demanding immediate action; immediate display of her and Ron's commitment. _Why was that?_ She wondered numbly. How could something so small link two people so inexplicably? How could someone really love another person if they forced them into making that kind of promise, knowing full well the other didn't want and was not ready for it?

Before she could muse further however on the topic, the curtains parted and in walked rotund Healer Patchley.

"Ah, Miss Granger! How are you feeling? Higgins tells me you're experiencing a little pain, not to worry, not to worry. We'll get you all set up with some more Milk of Poppy of course, but before that, did you have any questions? I was told that Healer Malfoy wasn't able to go over your surg-"

"I don't have any questions," Hermione blurted before he could finish his sentence. Up until this point no one had mentioned the baby and she had been fine with that. It wasn't something she was prepared to discuss quite yet. Somehow Harry had known that or at least felt awkward enough to not bring it up. Discussing it would make it _real._ Discussing it would force her to admit that she knew and she didn't want to know. Not right now, not while she had the convenient excuse of being in hospital and no visitors allowed. _Let me keep a little peace, for now,_ she begged silently.

Her face looked guilty momentarily before she could screw it up into a look of unreadable stone and Hr. Patchley's ginger mustache bristled slightly before eyeing her thoughtfully and nodding. The old wizard simply proceeded with giving her the potion for her pain, administering it with a skilled and practiced hand.

"Here you are! Stuff makes one dreadfully sleepy but thankfully no unpleasant dreams, no dreams whatsoever in fact," he said smiling while wagging his fat finger. "If you wake and need anything just send a summoning charm with your wand and _ah!_ I see you've already got a book to keep you company, very good. Got to keep the mind sharp!" he said with a wink.

Hermione turned her head toward where he had indicated and saw, much to her surprise, an ancient and dilapidated book, just sitting next to her wand. How had she not noticed it before? Patchley gave her another kind smile before departing and as soon as he was gone, Hermione's hand instantly reached for the tome. It was so strange, but she felt irresistibly drawn to it and soon found the moment she touched it, an odd rush of caution flooded her senses. She reluctantly withdrew her hand, her eyes scanning the book for its title and finding none.

As she felt the milk of poppy flittering through her veins, a stubborn disregard for her intuition took hold of her and she grabbed for the book once more. The feel of it in her hands caused her fingertips to tingle as if an energy radiated from within its very pages. The cover and binding appeared to be leather but felt much thinner and smoother than any leatherbound book she'd ever held. There were thick stitches in a strange pattern all around the front and back as if many scraps had been sewn together to construct it, and when Hermione opened to the first page, she noticed it was handwritten in burnt umber ink, but it was so smudged with age she could only make out one word:

 _Grimoire._

She vaguely remembered coming across the word before, but her eyelids had begun to feel weighty. Her fingertips leafed through the pages frantically, trying to read more but she soon found that except for one sentence, the book was entirely blank. She turned the pages again in frustration. They felt like they might tear with the slightest ungentle touch and she was almost afraid she _would_ tear them but found her body didn't feel it necessary to be careful, this blasted book was bloody useless and the time it took her to blink her eyes shut and open again was becoming more spaced out and infrequent. Her body was once more being taken hold of by the Milk of Poppy and before she knew it, she'd closed the book and fallen fast asleep with her hand resting upon it.

Healer Patchley had said that she would not dream and he was right, she didn't have any dreams.

 _She had nightmares._

.

* * *

.

Draco took a step forward and suddenly the glowing woman appeared right up at the glass. She looked at him most ardently and placed her hand up against the transparent wall that separated them. His mouth went dry and he placed his hand up to mirror hers. He could feel the heat radiating off her body and her eyes bore into his with pleading. She wanted to touch him and his whole body seemed to ache with need to touch her. Her fiery hair whipped behind her, rustled by some unseen wind.

As if in answer to their silent prayer, the glass between them melted away, and they stood face to face, palm to palm. The second his skin touched her, her black eyes lit neon gold, as if hot lava flowed behind them. It was a terrible sight to behold and Draco could feel his teeth chatter inside his skull, as his fear expressed itself plainly, but he couldn't move away from her. He somehow felt being away from her would surely kill him.

 _"Isn't she beautiful?"_ his father's voice said hovering around the edges of his consciousness. _"She is the beginning, my son. The source of all the magic our kind was gifted with. Trace all magical bloodlines back to the beginning of time and they_ all _begin with_ **her** _kind. She is the living wellspring. Drink deep."_

Draco fought to focus on his father's words but the woman had begun to slide her hand down to his wrist and hooked her fingers around it like a cuff. She used her other hand to push him back on his heels with such gentle and exquisite force, Draco almost thought their surroundings were moving around them and not him within them. The sudden tilt made him realize he might be falling back but the soles of his feet simply lifted off the ground at a gravity defying angle up on his heels, while she held onto his other arm by the wrist to keep him steady. It was as if the laws of physics no longer had jurisdiction over him and he went stiff as a board on an invisible incline.

That was when she climbed on top of him.

He felt the heat of her body through his clothes and it seemed as if all the blood in him had rushed down to his lower half. His response was involuntary and incessant. She gazed down at him smiling sweetly and as he looked into her eyes he was overcome with an odd sense of peace. _A gift for you. The thing you want most is now yours,_ sang the choir of voices in his head.

Her stare burned into him but as he gazed into the molten pools of her blazing eyes, they slowly began to change into eyes he had known since his birth. Blue eyes full of pride and love. They locked onto him and tears of elation filled them as a look of recognition passed between them and the voice he had cringed to hear in the throng of so many voices earlier, now spoke to him alone.

 _"Oh Draco, how I have missed you, my son."_

It was his mother! _She remembered him._ She knew his face. His heart flooded with warmth and burst with relief. It felt like he had been saved, finally. He was no longer a sad and orphaned child, crying at the shock and loneliness of being forgotten. His mother gathered his small form into her arms and held him close to her and he wept with joy into the crook of her neck. The heavy weight on his chest was lifted and he relished the floating sensation he felt as his mother carried him in her arms.

His mind began to loosen and go blank. What a lovely feeling, to be small and carried by your mother. To be safe in her arms, knowing you were loved. _He had missed it so much._

Was this what Muggles tried to attain when they mediated? This inner peace? This weightlessness? He couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. It almost hurt, it had been so long since he had made the expression and even longer since he had meant it. His mother brushed her cheek against his and the heat felt so real and comforting, so complete and endearing. The disgusting contrast he felt when she leaned in and kissed him full on the lips however, was not. The kiss was searching and hungry and _greedy._

 _It was not the kind of kiss a mother would give her child._

It seemed to suck the newly found happiness right out of his mind and Draco felt a sickening realization wash over him when he acknowledged the traitorous twitch beneath his navel and his mother pulled her face away from his, smiling cruelly down at him.

 _"What? Does this not_ do it _for you, sweet baby?_ " she asked in a mocking voice as she placed a hand on her hip. The illusion that he was a small child being cradled by his mommy disappeared and he realized he was still lying midair on an incline and she was now straddling him. _"Perhaps this is more to your liking?"_ she suggested as she lifted her arms up, placing one hand in front of the other until she had located an invisible seam in her flesh that she somehow _split seamed_ and he watched in horror as his mother's skin unraveled and transformed to reveal a more tan and supple surface. Blonde hair disappeared to reveal honey brown curls and in Narcissa Malfoy's place, Hermione Granger suddenly towered above him, regarding him with those irresistible, sleep swollen lips and calculating bedroom eyes.

.

* * *

.

She tossed and turned in her drug induced stupor. In the nightmare, her hospital gown was untied in the front and the mammalian flesh of her chest spilled out towards his face, begging to be sucked and nibbled. _Feed the baby, feed the baby,_ a voice inside her head jeered, wickedly. A smug evil had taken hold of her heart and strangled all the kindness right out of it. It filled her with a wicked desire: she must conquer this weak little boy before her. She must suck the life out of him to regain her strength before he was able to sustain himself with the strength he had stolen from her. This parasite, using her body as a host.

The image of the small child faltered in the nightmare and the form of a beautiful man replaced it. She knew absolutely, he was under her control, and the feeling of rapturous malice she suddenly felt as she realized this, began to drown her senses. **She was drunk on the power.** As he stared in disbelief she could feel the swelling in between his hips underneath her. _So easy._ Too easy. She would tease him. Her clawed hands grabbed him by both wrists now, and placed his palms at the sides of her heaving chest before running them down her the sides of her ribs and then toward the gentle diamond curve of her navel. In addition to his weakened condition, gravity assisted her immensely. _Poor little lamb,_ she thought coldly as she looked down upon him.

It felt as if she could peer into his very mind. Nothing was barred from her using the eyes of this creature.

The evil energy rushed toward the child, who cowered in fear. Hermione felt so weak, so hungry. The hunger was so powerful, so controlling. She had to destroy him. It was the only thing that would end her hunger. She stalked towards him with her claws raised and she could feel her jaw begin to unhinge.

But Hermione balked at her own actions. This was all ridiculously overstimulating. _It was madness._ But he must _not_ be able to see through the illusion. She had to ensure this. Her body felt so weak, as if she'd been starving for years. She could feel his pants constricting as his body betrayed his desire, responding to her. But her peripheral vision suddenly caught a ghostly reflection of herself in the glass wall that surrounded them and she became instantly repulsed.

She didn't really look like that. This was gratuitous hyperbole. Her breasts were perky and adequate but they were nothing like this. _Who's body was this? Why was she trapped within it?_ She stared at herself in the mirror, it was her...but it was all wrong...she would never do anything like this, _would she?_ And her eyes kept splicing the images of the man and the little boy, interchanging their faces until she understood they were the same person and she was mother to neither one.

There was no baby anymore. Not for her. Somehow she'd always known.

 _This was all a lie_ and if her heart believed the lie, that she was this creature, _this monster_ , and not sole possessor of its newly borrowed and badly copied form, she would be lost forever. _And so would he._ She saw a child hidden away inside the carefully built and constructed walls of the man's inner self. Hidden away for his protection. _What trauma could have befallen him to make him hide this aspect of himself?_ She wondered in despair. What was this creature going to do to him? It couldn't be anything good.

She surveyed the spectral image of her reflection in the darkly tinted glass once more before turning away, it was all too much and Hermione found herself laughing in spite of the nightmare, and it was as if the evil that had taken hold of her heart released her immediately, although her consciousness was still able to view the pathetic scene.

"You will not touch the child!" she pushed the thought out, knowing whatever magic this was, it would hear her. The creature using her skin paused and Hermione could hear a snarl echo inside her own trapped mind. "Take me instead," she offered weakly. She looked down at the face of the angelic little boy before her until her vision became watery and he transformed once more, into a man whom she realized she knew by name.

 _Draco Malfoy._

Before she could even react, she felt her consciousness shoved abruptly aside and she could no longer interact with anything. She was forced to watch as the false Hermione eyed him contemptuously before he was upright once more and the creature tried to kiss him. She wanted to scream that it wasn't her, that it was all a deception but she couldn't do anything except bear witness. The events unfolded the way only dreams can and she was trapped helplessly, unable to do or say a thing.

.

* * *

.

He tried to shut his eyes and purse his lips tightly. He was a Healer and she was his patient. This was wrong. But he caught himself sighing as he felt her hair brush against his face and a moan built up in his throat as her head moved to his neck and her wonderful mouth found a spot to catch itself on there. Her free hand caressed his jaw line and tried to pry his face back toward her but he resisted, so her hand glided down his throat across his collar, his shoulder, then down his arm. He could no longer feel her near the upper half of his body so he opened his eyes tentatively and watched in dismay as she dropped to her knees.

She brought his hand to her face and pressed her cheek into it, looking up at him with her big hazel eyes. The eyes enslaved him. This is what he had been afraid of at the hospital, what had made him flee from her. Those damn eyes looking at him, _into_ him, as if he was some savior and what's worse, he wanted to believe them, he wanted to believe he was forgiven, that _she_ had forgiven him, knowing all the while it was a lie. She had looked so honest as she held his hand against her, her heart flapping its wings wildly, like a caged bird. She hadn't cringed away from him like the monster he felt like most of the time. It was too tempting. It was wrong.

 _"You,"_ she whispered dreamily, on her knees. _"It was you."_

He watched as she took his hand and placed it against her heartbeat once again and while her flesh was soft and warm, he could feel nothing thrum beneath it. Before he could process this information, however, his eyes tore themselves away from her, flying up into the back of his skull as his head lolled back, and he felt himself blossoming out of his clothes in between her perfectly parted lips. It was as if he was being lifted up toward warm and sensual clouds. The little puffs of warm, wet air nestled into his flesh and all around him, soothing him into utter abeyance. His eyes shut serenely and his mouth opened in wonder at the sudden rush of ecstasy that overpowered him. He tried to look at her but found he couldn't.

 _"Don't look,"_ she giggled shyly and he could feel her face turn away from him.

His head went slack against his shoulders as he acceded, if only to recover the warm sensation of her mouth again and once she was sure he wasn't watching her, she returned. She had soon set an excellent pace and Draco could feel his hips bracing as her mouth smashed into and around him again and again. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder and was confused by what he felt. It was dry and rough to the touch and her hair felt suddenly clumpy and matted. But he was coasting high on the precipice of his climax and was so close to bursting that he couldn't really care about trivial things such as those. Still, Draco was very visual person and wanted to gaze into her eyes at the moment of release so with all the strength and concentration he could muster, he opened his eyes and bent his head down to look down at her.

Draco would have screamed but he couldn't make a sound. Instead of light brown curls there was a mass of tar-dipped hair and instead of Hermione's face, he was gazing into the face of an old crone with wrinkled flesh and empty, black eye sockets. He stared in horror as he realized there was no mouth attached to this face which was attached to him, just an extremity that appeared to consist of a sucker and hook. He pushed the creature away from him but it would not release him until it had received every last drop he could spill into its eager scolex and once he had, its body suddenly went rigid and the throng of terrible voices filled his head once more.

 _"The Sixth Unforgivable Act has been fulfilled and sustenance has been offered before the full moon. The agreement is sealed and cannot be forfeited. Blood must be paid with blood."_

Draco fell to his knees as his vision grew hazy and he barely registered someone lifting his hand and pricking it sharply. The last thing he recalled seeing at all was the beautiful woman, alight once more, wielding her terrible, monstrous power. Her form seemed to dilate and he could see her belly swell unnaturally, wavering slightly as his vision began to grow fuzzy. He was certain she would have killed him had not the sixth side of her cube re-appeared to encase her once more. And the gilded runes glittered, burning their inscription upon his eyes before they shut and everything _went black._

.

* * *

.


	17. Chapter 17

.

* * *

.

Hermione sat up in her bed with a shuddering intake of breath. Twin single tears sped down each of her cheeks the moment she blinked her eyes. _What the hell had just happened?_ It hadn't felt like a dream at all, but she knew it must be. Still, it had felt somehow _familiar_. Draco's terror had been palpable and she had felt oddly acquainted with it before it flooded her mind and her eyes had flown open in wakefulness. She thought she must be going mad as her mind started to race and she wondered desperately,

 _Was he lost forever? Would she ever see him again?_

Oh course she would, she shook her head, embarrassed with herself. He was her Healer. But she found herself feeling bizarrely afraid for him. In the dream, she had seen him as a child, lonely and afraid. The evil that had infected her heart had preyed upon him and under its possession she had found his vulnerability deliciously tempting and forbidden. She had suddenly known things about him that she knew he had never told anyone. She knew that he missed his parents terribly and could relate immensely herself. She knew his heart was filled with self-loathing and fear and _need_ to prove himself and immediately found herself sympathizing.

It was strange for her to know things about someone she'd never actually had a real conversation with, especially when she recalled how much they had disliked each other when they were younger, during previous interactions. But she couldn't deny that she now felt very close to him, as if she had been intimated with his inner most secrets. She wanted to protect him from this darkness that had sought to devour him, real or not, and the helplessness she felt not knowing where he was unnerved her.

Over the years, he seemed to have genuinely been trying to change public opinion of himself. Was this his penance? The terrible loneliness she felt rippling throughout the whole of his entire being? The eyes and powers she'd used to peer into his mind did not belong to her and she still felt some link toward this imitator, this imposter. But how was that possible?

 _Who was the woman in the dream?_

Hermione felt certain the creature was not a woman at all, in fact, she felt privy to this secret even if she couldn't remember, she knew she had met this fiend before. No one could ever truly forget that kind of fear. It had left its mark upon her and her body could remember the damage inflicted, if not the blow. Her head started to pound as she racked her brain for evidence of memory and found none. _But there must be something!_ She raked her hands through the tangle of curls atop her head and gritted her teeth in frustration.

With alarming realization, her eyes widened and flicked over to the bedside table where her wand lay. She grabbed it and conjured contained candlelight for the small space, uttering a quick _"Muffliato,"_ before turning her attention to the book. Her fingers grazed the cover tentatively and it seemed to her that it reacted with greedy hunger to be touched and handled.

She opened it to the only sentence it contained within its pages:

 _"Pro scientiaeque sanguine,"_

which she translated, quite literally to:

 _"Blood for knowledge."_

The sentence vibrated in her head. It suggested a voluntary, yet violent exchange must take place in order to procure unknown truth and offered no substitution. A shiver crept down her back as she sucked in an audible breath and, as if simply reading from this book could make her body respond to it, she felt something seeping out from behind the bandages on her abdomen. She tucked her hand under the covers, pressed it against her flesh, and lifted it back up to confirm. There it was, shiny and ruby red. _Her blood._ She stared back down at the book, then back at her bloodied fingertips. She suddenly understood that the words and their meaning were to be taken literally. _Blood for knowledge._

With careful hesitation, she placed a trembling, blood dipped finger to the page and watched in horror-struck awe as the angry looking smear dissolved into it. The tome seemed to grow hot as she held it, the leather becoming pliant, _as human flesh,_ she thought with a shudder. _What dark magic was contained in these pages?_ she wondered with a sick, sinking feeling. And as if in answer to her thoughts, a choir of voices resonated from within her body. She could not drown them out and they took hold of her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she went into trance-like hebetude.

 _"We have seen the fear that lives inside you. The fear that perhaps your blood is inferior, a poisonous scourge to the world,"_ the book whispered viciously. _"Open your eyes, there is much to show you."_

She did as she was bade and watched as the pages illuminated with various illustrated depictions of Mugglekind being tortured and killed. The women undergoing forced hysterectomies to render them sterile and the men being fed poison to produce the same result. Children were slaughtered or forced into servitude. Families were ripped apart. Their names and heritage destroyed. It all made Hermione sick to witness and she struggled to wrench her eyes away from the pages and the onslaught of abuse they hurled at her.

 _"DO NOT LOOK AWAY,"_ the book commanded.

She obeyed. She suffered through the macabre assault and tears filled her eyes but could not seem to blur her vision, each showcase more horrible than the one before.

 _"Read aloud."_

Hermione couldn't find her voice. Everything in her body screamed for her to stop, to shut the book, to remain ignorant and the book could sense her repugnance. Its grip on her seemed to tighten somehow and her eyes goggled at the words that appeared before her. She shook her head in blunt refusal and the voices whispered incoherently until she heard a man asking her,

 _"Are you...pregnant?"_

And the book showed her an image of herself, lying on her back while that disgusting carp-faced hag curled up between her legs. It showed her what had happened to the potential child inside her, the creature sucking away at its essence like a milkshake with a straw.

"No!" Hermione screamed, trying to turn her face away. "No more!"

The voices slowed down grotesquely like a gramophone needing winding. _"Her My Oh Nee, Her My Oh Nee,"_ and then cruel laughter filled her head.

"Stop!" Hermione cried holding her face with her hands and squeezing down on her temples in a pointless attempt to drive the voices out.

 _"READ ALOUD!"_ they hissed furiously once more. She watched helplessly as the candlelight in her bedroom flickered until it was guttered out and her face cringed painfully; It was as if she could hear every heartbeat on earth, thundering away inside her skull. She did not recognize the surrendering voice as her own until it filled her ears, pleading,

 _"Surgere! A munere sanguis. Paratus sum sentire manus."_

And suddenly it was as if all the energy that had been gathering within the curtains evaporated to a pointless anti-climax. The pounding in her head stopped, the candlelight returned, and everything was still. She sat up slowly and looked around her. There was nothing. Nothing had happened.

But she couldn't stop the hammering of her own heart or the hair-raising suspicion that she was no longer alone. It wasn't until she saw their silhouettes outside the curtains that she could justify the terror she felt but by then it was too late. Eight pairs of hands tore through the curtains, each one stretching out to grasp at any part of her they could reach.

And Hermione's voice betrayed her once more by not allowing her to scream.

.

* * *

.

 _"Gah, fuck,"_ muttered Draco as he hit his head on the fireplace mantel of Hermione Granger's home. He had found it very odd that he woke up laid out on his ass in an alleyway and even stranger that it was well past midnight but figured he could explore the reasons for that later. An odd sense of duty had overcome him and he felt preoccupied with an urgent need to complete the mission he had previously set forth to accomplish.

As he peered into the darkness, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times.

 _"Here kitty, kitty."_

He felt extremely stupid and couldn't believe he'd agreed to this. At a distance ahead of him, he heard the soft pit pat of low bounding paws and dropped to his knees while sticking out a cautious hand. A slow spreading smile crept across his face when he felt a furry head butt his palm in the dark and he found himself scratching behind the ears of what felt like a rather large cat.

"So you're Crooksnacks, eh?" he smirked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. "I hope you don't scratch me with those bloody talons of yours."

The cat surprised Draco by getting on its hind legs and putting its front paws up on his knees. It was almost as if the animal understood him and why he was here.

"Ready to go on a little trip then, are you?" Draco asked dryly. "Well, come on then. Bloody hell, you must weigh about two stone," he grumbled as he picked up the cat.

"WHO'S DOWN THERE? yelled a voice from upstairs.

 _Uh oh,_ thought Draco gritting his teeth. He'd unfortunately woken up the king of the castle. As quickly and as quietly as he possibly could, he cradled the cat, backed up into the fireplace and whispered, "The Ministry of Magic," before disappearing in a roar of emerald green flames.

"You're very well mannered for a small lion," Draco told the cat who peered up at him with very intelligent eyes as they stepped out of the marble grate. As soon as they were in the Atrium however, the cat became agitated and squirmed within his arms, trying to get down.

"Crooksnacks, take it easy," Draco chided. But it was no use, he couldn't keep hold of the animal and soon it burst from his grasp onto the floor, hissing and bristling its tail.

"I take it back! You're a bloody terror," said Draco crossly. The cat ran back to him, pressed its face on his shin, then bounded towards the lifts as if he wanted Draco to follow.

"Hold your broomstick, there, you ol' ginger fluffball. You'll get to see your master shortly. Half a moment."

But the cat seemed to insist he move faster so Draco half jogged his way over to the lift, feeling foolish and happy that it was too late for anyone of importance to see him. Imagine, being ordered around by a cat, he thought sourly, shaking his head.

"There, happy now?" he asked as he looked down at Crookshanks and the lift partition shut. They made their way down to Level Two and Draco watched in amazement as the cat darted from the lift, heading straight for the interior office where the Medi-tent was set up. _How the bloody hell does he know where she is?_ he wondered in astonished consternation. He passed Higgins who was sitting in a chair of the reception area with his head lolled back and his mouth wide open, fast asleep.

"Useless," Draco whispered disgustedly as he continued to the tent.

When he ducked through the flap, his eyes struggled to make sense of what he saw. There had been eight feverish and deranged aurors strapped to their beds when he had left. Now there weren't any. Besides some covers and loose straps, the beds were completely empty.

The straps, he noticed furrowing his brow, had been broken, or snapped really, from strain, not because someone had manually disengaged them. Draco's eyes flew around the tent in utter perplexion and suddenly he saw shadows flickering toward the back. He could hear Crookshanks hissing and spitting, trying to defend his master _but_ _from what?_ Draco couldn't even venture a guess. He was too busy running as fast as he could toward Hermione's bed, hardly believing what his eyes saw once he got there.

The afflicted aurors were standing around her, trying with all their might to hold her down and she was putting up a hell of a fight. One of them had procured a crude shard of glass and was attempting to press it against her belly. They had succeeded in removing the bandages and she had ripped her stitches during the struggle. Another auror was drawing a circle of symbols on her _with her own blood._ Draco gaped at the scene unfolding all around him in absolute horror and it wasn't until Crookshanks let out an ear piercing yowl that he came to and sprang into action. He took his wand out and yelled,

 _"Immobilus!"_

The men in front of him froze immediately and Draco found himself climbing over their bodies to get to Hermione. He threw his coat over her and lifted her off the bed, away from the madness. It was all bloody madness and Draco was fed up with it. What the hell could make eight sick men strong enough to rip through their bed-straps in their weakened condition? They couldn't even keep down solid food! He let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a sigh and felt all the emotions he had been pushing aside well up inside his chest until he could no longer deny how he felt.

He was angry.

Angry at having been taken off the auror's case due to unnecessary and undeserved prejudice from their superior, angry that he couldn't seem to find any answers, angry that this was apparently all his bloody fault. So angry in fact, that he hardly had time to react when Hermione threw her arms around his neck in a fierce hug and whispered,

"I thought I'd never see you again," into his ear.

.

* * *

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	18. Chapter 18

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* * *

.

Head Auror Gawain Robards was not happy to have been woken up at one in the morning. He was even less happy about finding out he would need to head back into the office, _"as a matter of emergency"_ the screech owl's note had read. But when he arrived at the office in his pajamas and came face to face with Draco Malfoy, whom he regarded as inbred Death Eater scum, he was furious.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

Draco gave a mirthless laugh. He could already tell where this was heading.

"Just saving the world from possessed aurors," Draco said casually with a shrug. "No need to thank me, but very sweet of you all the same."

Hr. Patchley shut his eyes as soon as he heard the cheeky remark, resigning himself to mediate the hostile tension that immediately took over the room. If only the boy could control the temptation to be so unwisely sarcastic, especially when lives were at stake, he thought helplessly. As expected, Robards' face turned purple and his head looked like it was about to explode.

 _"WHAT DID YOU-"_

"Gawain, old chap! Good to see you," Patchley said cheerfully, cutting him off before he could finish. "Terribly sorry about having to drag you down here but it appears-"

"What is _he_ doing here, Heathcliff?!" Robards interjected. "I thought I made myself clear that he was not-"

"Now Gawain, hold on. At least listen to what the boy has to say," Patchley said in cautious defense of his pupil. Robards rounded on the old healer, his salt and pepper hair swishing round as he jerked his head to eye him contemptuously.

 _"Listen to him!?_ You listen to _me_ , you old goat! THIS IS ALL _HIS_ DOING! This whole bloody mess just reeks of...of _dark magic_ ," he spat, as flecks of spittle flew between both men.

"Well, brilliant work, Robards. Seems you've solved it! _Case closed._ I believe this is the part where you drag me away to Azkaban, right?" Draco drawled sarcastically. "No investigation, no trial, and most importantly, no struggle. But thank you for allowing me to see you in your lovely pajamas. It will give me something to laugh about while I waste away in my cell."

Robards looked down at himself in his Quidditch print pajama set feeling rather ridiculous and his previous rage-filled sails appeared to deflate.

"They were a gift from my daughter," he grumbled.

 _"Charming,"_ said Draco blandly.

"Well, where have you been, Malfoy? Everyone's been searching for you. Tried to escape after failing to kill Ms. Granger? Come back to finish the job, have you?" Robards accused.

"He actually saved her, twice, Gawain," Hr. Patchley corrected, holding up two fat fingers.

"Or made it appear so, Heathcliff. He's obviously controlling my men with some evil spell," Robards yelled waving his hand to indicate the aurors who were safely strapped back in their cots. Draco had had Higgins go and wake Senior Healer from his make-shift sleeping quarters and he in turn had summoned Robards shortly after Draco explained what had happened.

"Do I need to remind you that your men aren't even conscious? They would need to be in order to be controlled by the Imperio Curse or did you skip that day at school? Didn't have that nutter Moody teaching you, I see. Pity, you might've learned something, Ro. _I know I did_ ," Draco replied, his grey eyes flashing ominously.

The two men observed one another intensely. Robards shook his fists, it infuriated him to hear Draco speak of a fallen comrade so flippantly.

"I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS DISRESPECT, HEATHCLIFF! GET HIM UNDER CONTROL!" the Head Auror bellowed.

"Draco, why don't you let me talk to Robards. _Alone_ ," Patchley suggested waving his chubby hand to indicate Draco was to step out of the room.

Draco sighed in resignation and slammed the door behind him for good measure. It was humiliating to be dismissed like a child but he knew he should have held his tongue. The whole situation looked bad. It shouldn't have taken him more than 30 minutes to collect a cat, yet he had the whole day and night to account for. He had no idea what had happened to him and something told him he didn't want to remember. There were still traces of terror instilled within him, but his mind felt emptied of their cause.

He could hear Robards' heated yells against Patchley's more docile tone, but it was all muffled and he didn't know what they were saying, not that he needed to. _Didn't they understand they were just wasting their time?_ he questioned furiously. It was obvious to him now that the only person that could help them with information was Hermione, but she'd been so hysterical they had to force some _Dreamless Sleep Draught_ down her throat just so he could fix her stitches. He bent forward resting his elbows on his thighs and cradling his forehead in his hands. There was treachery afoot and Draco felt he'd been trampled by it one too many times. He didn't even hear the door to the exterior entrance open or feel eyes upon him, regarding him apprehensively.

"Malfoy?"

Draco looked up without lifting his head and couldn't believe who it was that stood before him.

"Potter," he sighed. Wonderful, now all it took was one dubious word from _Harry the Hero Potter_ and Robards would have the final nail for Draco's coffin. He'd be banished from the Ministry and possibly put on probation from St. Mungo's, as well. Robards was desperate for someone to blame the whole thing on and he couldn't have found a more perfect candidate, Draco thought bitterly. He was facing daily pressure from the auror's families who were threatening to leak the whole ordeal to _The Daily Prophet_ and it was really a wonder nothing had gone to print before now. They probably couldn't keep it under wraps much longer.

"You okay?" Harry asked as he looked Draco over.

"Bloody peachy," Draco scoffed.

"Robards just summoned me, what's going on?" Harry asked, scratching his untidy head.

 _Why was Potter questioning him about this? He obviously had round the clock access to the auror office and the aurors themselves for that matter. Was this a trick of some kind?_ Draco wondered suspiciously. He eyed the be-speckled wizard wearily before determining Harry actually was genuinely confused.

"I came back from Granger's with Crooksnacks," Draco started saying.

"Crookshanks," corrected Harry.

"Whatever. The tiny lion. But when I got here, the aurors had somehow broken free of their restraints and were..." he trailed off not certain how to describe what he had seen. Aside from the fact he was sure Harry would never believe him, he didn't want to go into too much detail and upset him since he knew Hermione and he were very close. It was obvious to Draco that had he not arrived when he had, she would have suffered being violated in more ways than one. Physically, emotionally, sexually, possibly fatally as well.

"They were attacking her?" Harry guessed, raising his voice in alarm. Draco simply nodded and looked at the floor. "Where have you been all day?" queried Harry tentatively.

"No fucking clue," Draco sighed honestly, looking disgusted with himself. "I don't know why, but I feel like a dark wizard may be behind this, maybe my fath-."

"YOU SEE?! HE _ADMITS_ IT!" yelled Robards, who had just stepped in from the interior office with Patchley behind him. Patchley shook his head and looked absolutely exhausted. "Call _The Prophet!_ I want it reported that I have a full confes-"

"He hasn't _confessed_ to anything, Head Auror!" Harry interrupted. "And I have very little idea why he should, since he hasn't done anything but try to save everyone's life from what I can tell."

Everyone turned to gape at Harry in surprise, including Draco.

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* * *

.

After hours of deliberation it seemed, Harry and Robards emerged from the office they had been discussing matters within.

"Have it your way, Potter. But if this blows up in your face, it's your career, _not mine_ ," Robards spat severely as he stormed away, narrowing his eyes at Draco before disappearing into the corridor towards the lifts.

Draco, confused, turned towards his former nemesis and was completely taken aback by the smile he found on Potter's face, _directed at him._

"Well, I hope you're up for the job, Malfoy," Harry said with a wink. Draco pursed his lips and shut his eyes in defeat. He knew there had to have been a catch.

"I suppose we'll be working on this case _together_..." he ventured glumly. He knew he should be happy he wasn't on probation but working with Potter? It still felt like a punishment.

"Nope," Harry said brightly. "You are actually to accompany Hermione to St. Mungo's. We figured it would be safer for her there and we'll be moving the aurors down to the Level 4 observation deck so we can have round the clock supervision for them. There are living quarters there for Level 4 staff but a lot of them seem to be resigning or less willing to handle all the responsibilities these last few months," explained Harry shaking his head. "When it first came to my attention, I suspected it might have something to do with the new laws the Ministry had passed. Hermione had written a lot of them and one in particular seemed to have made some of the staff angry that they would have to change their techniques after they had completed their new extension. I'm not sure what their plans had been, but I'm guessing it wasn't within the new regulations."

Draco narrowed his eyes in thought. "Do you think someone arranged an attack on her?" His thoughts went back to Pierce Harchird. He felt nearly ready to explode to tell Harry but knew he had to keep the man's name buried deep, on the off chance Harchird's threat might not be so thinly veiled. The man was dangerous, that was for sure, and Draco didn't know if he trusted Harry with the information just yet.

"It's possible," Harry said sadly with shrug. "I don't have any proof yet, just motive and not much of one to be honest. What could someone have to gain by attacking her now? The law has already been approved. But I don't have anything else to go on." He looked Draco squarely in the face. "I need you to keep an eye on Hermione. It hasn't really hit her now, but I know she's going to take this pretty hard and since I'm going to be busy working on _this_ case, I'm not going to have much time to visit with her and I know she isn't going to want to see Ron." He saw the look of irritation spreading on Draco's face and continued. "Look, I know this is probably the last thing you want to spend your time on, but think of it as your chance to show Robards and everyone really, that you are not behind this," Harry urged.

Draco bit back his retort. Perhaps Potter was right. He had operated on Hermione and it would take her a few weeks to heal since he didn't like to mix healing methods, aside from oral medications and potions. There would be no wand-waving over her wound to speed up the process but they might be able to fade the scar with _Essence of Dittany_ once it had fully healed.

He gave an immeasurable nod of assent before turning to leave.

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Harry asked with a slight smirk in his voice.

Draco turned to see Harry already had Hermione and her cat brought into the exterior office on an enchanted guerney. Draco couldn't hide the grimace from spreading on his face, Potter was enjoying this far too much. Crookshanks was lying on the pillow beside his master eyeing Draco with penetratingly orange eyes which offered somewhat of a silent challenge. _"Just try something dodgy and I'll scratch your eyes out,"_ they seemed to communicate.

"I think I'll accompany you, if I remember correctly, this old fleabag can be a fair bit of trouble if he gets to thinking Hermione is in any danger," Harry said with mock severity. But Draco turned toward Harry as he patted the cat's head.

"He's actually the reason she's alive, if we're being honest," he said seriously.

"I hope we can be, Malfoy," Harry replied, just as seriously. "I really do."

.

* * *

.

They arrived at St. Mungo's and Draco immediately started the process of getting Hermione her own room in the boarding wing of the hospital. He told Harry to go ahead and take her, giving him the floor name and room number.

"I'll be right along, once I've finished here," he said professionally, for the benefit of his subordinates who were buzzing around and bustling with excitement.

"Harry Potter! Oh look, it's Harry Potter! And Hermione Granger! She'll be staying here? What's happened? Oh my!" It was enough to make Draco physically ill.

"Don't you all have work you should be doing?" he asked through half-lidded exasperation. Saint Potter and the Blessed Mother Hermione. Draco made a face at himself. _That was in bad taste,_ he reflected. He thought back to Hermione and felt his cheeks burn as he remembered her unexpected embrace. Poor woman, she must have been _delirious_.

He made his way to the boarding wing to see if Harry had gotten Hermione settled but stopped dead in his tracks. Someone was in his _mother's room._ He made brisk strides toward the door casting suspicious eyes at the intruder but was completely disarmed to see Harry step out into the hallway.

" _Potter?_ What're you-"

"Relax. Just wanted to say hello," Harry replied with his palms up. Draco regarded the young man in front of him in complete bafflement. _He'd wanted to say hello to Narcissa?_ But why? In spite of his suspicious nature, Draco felt his eyes soften a little as they held Harry in their gaze.

"She doesn't seem to remember me, though," Harry said shaking his head in disappointment. Draco looked down at the floor.

"Well, that makes two of us," he admitted with only a glimmer of the sadness he actually felt. He turned to make his way toward Hermione's room but stopped when Harry placed a firm, yet gentle hand on his shoulder.

"She won the war for us, you know. We couldn't have done it without her," he heard Harry say softly. Draco shuddered underneath the friendly gesture and leaned against the wall for support. He felt completely taken off guard by the remark and had no idea what to say. He thought about the first time he'd met Harry and what a different person he'd been then. _Can Potter tell? Does he believe I've changed?_ he found himself wondering and worse, he found himself _caring_.

Harry made a movement like he was going to leave and before Draco could stop himself, he asked,

"Do you remember the dead unicorn we found? First year?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Harry answered furrowing his brow and turning back towards him.

Draco stared into his eyes, grey piercing into green.

 _"I knew then,"_ he said, unable to steady his voice.

"Knew what?" Harry asked softly, still confused.

"I knew he was bad! That I wanted nothing to do with him. _No part whatsoever,_ " Draco replied vehemently. Harry stared at him, not quite sure what to say but before he could say anything, Draco continued, with a bitter edge to his voice. "And I still went along with it. _With all of it!_ " he said in disgust, turning away from Harry. "Unicorns were my favorite animal back then. Still are, if I'm being honest. When I first got my wand, I was fucking _overjoyed_ the core was a unicorn hair...and when I saw that thing standing over the dead unicorn, the unicorn it had just  killed... _drinking its blood... **I KNEW THEN**!" _ he spat in fury, balling up his fists. "But...I was so _weak,"_ he said through clenched teeth _. "I couldn't..."_ and his voice trailed off unable to explain further as he hung his head.

Harry was honestly scared. He was afraid Draco might start crying or something... _Malfoy!_ _Crying!_ He'd seen it once before and the memory sent a horrible chill down his back. But Draco finally lifted his head and Harry was relieved to see there were no tears in his eyes. Only a bitter, self loathing. It looked like it had been there for quite some time and Harry realized it was what made Draco's face look so different from when they'd been at school. Harry sighed and offered Draco what he hoped looked like a comforting smile.

"Hey, don't do that, okay?" he said mildly. "You were only eleven then and you'd been indoctrinated with Pureblood bullshit all your life. You can't blame yourself-"

Draco shook his head. "Are you even listening to me, Potter? I'm telling you, _I knew_ and it still didn't stop me from going along with it. _For six more bloody years._ It's beyond pathetic how-"

"Draco. **Stop**. You have to forgive yourself sooner or later. We all made mistakes. There isn't anyone who didn't, least of all myself," admitted Harry fervently.

The two wizards regarded one another in awkward but allied silence.

"I'll take good care of Granger," Draco said earnestly.

"I know, I know. They say you're the best, after all," Harry said succumbing to a wry grin.

"Well if it's in the papers, _it must be true,_ " Draco replied with a smirk.

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* * *

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	19. Chapter 19

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* * *

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Draco brushed a stray hair away from Hermione's face. It was strange, but the more he looked at her, the more he felt like he knew her.

And it was really starting to bother him.

What had become of him? He was becoming an over attentive nursemaid, doting on his charge. Aside from the "conversation" they'd had a few days ago (during which she'd been practically _stumbling_ after the dragon) he couldn't recall if they'd ever shared a civil word between them. He was pretty certain they hadn't. Now here he was, her designated caretaker. Was this the dreaded and sickeningly romanticized _Florence Nightingale Effect_ he'd heard his Muggle classmates speak mysteriously of? His posture stiffened and he regarded Hermione in trepidation.

 _Was it some kind of Muggle magic?_

He narrowed his eyes, staring fearfully at Hermione and she stirred slightly, parting her lips. No, Muggles didn't have any magic, this was _attraction_ , he realized in shock. The discovery was completely disarming to him. She was pretty. _Very_ pretty, in fact. Had he never noticed before? He probably had, on some level, but his brainwashed young mind had refused to accept it. Although, after some thought, he had to acknowledge that of all the Muggleborns at school, he'd gone out of his way to interact with _her_ the most.

 _Why had that been?_

It was the only way to speak to her, to get her attention, Draco thought logically. Without anyone thinking any less of him. Well, he was free to openly stare at her now. There were no judgemental, prying eyes to keep up appearances for and she herself was sleeping, so he let his eyes rest comfortably upon her face, tracing over every detail; the freckles on her nose and the beauty marks dotting her collarbones, her tangled and overabundant dark lashes, the way her hair varied in shades of honey brown, sable, and chestnut. She really was very fetching and as Draco continued to stare, searching for what had changed, he came to the realization the only thing different was _him_.

It was mind blowing how different someone could look once they were seen as an actual person instead of just infesting vermin.

Sure, there was always the chance that she'd blossomed later, after school, but honestly, he didn't see anything in her face he hadn't seen before. Maybe her hair was less unruly, and obviously, she was no longer a girl, but nothing else. _Was hatred so potent that it could blind a man so remarkably?_ Apparently so, he concluded. But this new attraction to her startled him. It was so abrupt, so without foundation. Where had it come from? What had transpired between them that it should feel so, undeniable?

He saw her fingers twitch slightly and before he could even think about what he was doing, he was gently holding her hand in his. It was soft and she had quill callouses. He smiled as he ran a timid thumb over them. So studious. So filled with desire to prove herself. So like himself.

Once Draco had shed his Muggle prejudices, he was amazed at all the pretty women surrounding him day to day; they were literally everywhere. It fascinated him endlessly, how he'd been so utterly oblivious to the world around him. Everything looked different and the self-imposed restrictions his life had been plagued with evaporated almost overnight. There were more places to go, more things to see. His life had been plucked from its tedious conveyor belt of carefully planned predestination and thrust down some random, unknowable path. His choices were now truly his own.

 _And he was finally proud of them,_ without wanting or needing to know if anyone else was.

.

* * *

.

Since Hermione was sleeping, he decided to go visit his mother. He wasn't sure if seeing Harry had rattled her at all or if she'd forgotten as soon as the interaction ended, but figured it would be best to check on her now, before caring for Hermione inevitably took up most of his time. As he walked to his mother's room, he found himself thinking of their last encounter, when she had showed him the picture of himself in the locket.

Had his face really changed so much that she couldn't see that the child in that picture and the man who stood before her were one and the same? His heart felt heavy with the weight of a lifetime's sadness. He felt he would never recover from it, not unless she did.

He stepped into his mother's room and found her sitting on her bed, staring at an old family photo album. Her face turned toward the sound of his entrance and he could almost swear a trace of recollection flash over it as she looked up at him. She put the album down and got up with a start.

"You..." she whispered, furrowing her brow as his shot up in surprise. Was she remembering him? At long last? Was his mother finally regaining her memories? He swallowed a breath and his heart began to pound in his chest.

She crossed the room toward him, never taking her eyes from his face.

"Your hair..." she commented.

Draco was absolutely flabbergasted. What about his hair? He opened his mouth to speak but his mother simply shook her head, dismissively.

"Nevermind, it's not important. I wanted to talk to you earlier but I couldn't get you alone."

What did she mean by this? Draco wondered, frozen in place as his mother took a step away thinking carefully on what she was going say. She turned imploring blue eyes upon him.

"Please reconsider your decision, my love. Don't make him go through with this. He's...he's just a boy. _He's our baby boy,"_ her lips trembled uncontrollably. "Something like this, it will destroy him. Please, for his sake," she begged, tears clouding her eyes. "Don't let it happen."

Draco stared down into his mother's clear blue eyes, trying to make sense of her words. She took up both his hands in hers and squeezed them.

"Don't we mean anything to you, Lu? Are you so blinded by these delusions of grandeur that you cannot see what this will do to us? To our family? Do not make him do this, he is your son. _Our only son._ The only light in this dark mess we've made. Please," she implored desperately, her eyes growing wider with every word that fell from her lips. "Don't allow that mad man, that creature, to use him. Don't let it happen. Are you so weak?" she demanded, her voice raising and going shrill. "Well, _I_ won't! I-I refuse to stand for it! _He is all I have left._ DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO TAKE AWAY MY SON!" the witch shrieked, pushing her fists against his chest futilely.

Her weak fists might have knocked him over, so stunned was he at this sudden outburst, but he steadied himself as understanding dawned on him. Her struggling mind had mistaken him for Lucius. She was simply reliving a conversation she'd had or had thought about having with him. Her words were furious and soaked in guilt. Was it the cause behind her ailment? This horrific regret? Did it plague her mind like a cancer, eating away at her sanity or was her mind hiding the memories as an attempt to cope with her new reality? Her husband had abandoned his family and her son had been responsible for the destruction of Hogwarts. He gazed down into her face that was so twisted with heartache that he barely recognized her. Before he knew what he was doing, he had wrapped his fingers around her frail wrists to still them.

"I won't," Draco whispered. "Your- _our_ son... _will be spared."_

Narcissa's posture seemed to crumble under the words and she gazed up at him with eyes flooded with relief. The tears that fell to her cheeks, were tears of joy.

"Oh thank you," she cried. "Thank you, my love."

And Narcissa Malfoy wrapped her pale, slender arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight embrace. She sighed heavily against his chest as she held him and Draco's knees felt weak as he felt her hand stroke the back of his head.

It was the first time his mother had touched him in eight years.

.

* * *

.

A Medi-witch named Blume had taken Narcissa down to her arts therapy and Draco felt immediately drained. He hadn't slept since...he couldn't even remember when. Once he'd broken the hug, Narcissa gazed into his eyes once more and he watched the glimmer of recognition fade from them and become dull as he transformed once again into simply her Healer, no one else. His legs carried him back to Hermione's room and he found himself crawling into the other bed, opposite from hers. The second his head hit the pillow and his eyes shut, he was dead to the world.

 _His father was setting him on a stool. He was small, maybe four or five years old. The lessons had started a year ago, mother didn't know about them. Father would have him recite the Pureblood family names and he did so, perfectly._

 _All twenty eight._

 _"Very good, Draco. You must always remember, some of the families on that list are not options, however. Every decade the list will more than likely become shorter and there will be less options for you, but never court a Weasley or Longbottom girl. Or a Macmillan for that matter," his father said, wrinkling his nose. "They are?"_

 _"Blood traitors!" Draco answered enthusiastically._

 _"Correct!" Lucius said smiling._

 _His father patted his head and clucked his tongue in pity._

 _"I grow fearful for you, my son. It appears our kind are dying out. It cannot be denied. We Purebloods are marrying first and second cousins just to keep the bloodlines uncontaminated and the inbreeding is producing more Squibs than children. We risk extinction. The thought that you may have to take a wife with inferior blood..." Lucius shuddered visibly. "But I promise you," he said, lifting Draco's chin and peering deep into his eyes. "I will not rest until I have exhausted all resources to make sure that does not happen. A pure family is a safe family. I will go to any lengths, my son."_

 _Draco didn't really understand what his father was saying but it made him feel very special and he smiled up at Lucius' delighted face._

 _"You know I will, don't you? You know here," Lucius said, patting Draco's chest and Draco nodded vigorously as his father's grey eyes twinkled with pride._

.

* * *

.

Draco's eyes were starting to flutter open in wakefulness as his consciousness was dragged from the dreamt memory and back to where his body rested in bed. He stared at the hospital ceiling, blinking slowly. The bed felt oddly warm and he didn't want to leave its confines for anything. He wanted to luxuriate in the comforting warmth, let it fill him. But for some strange reason, he could still feel his father's hand upon his chest. His gaze flicked down in a slight panic and he saw a small, _feminine_ hand resting against him. His eyes grew wide as they followed the hand and saw that it was attached to an arm and turning his head, he saw that the arm was attached to a _person_.

 _Hermione Granger._

He sat up with a start and Hermione's hand flopped into his lap. His cheeks colored slightly as he picked it up and dropped it into the space between them. Had he, in his exhaustion, crept into her bed mistakenly? He looked over at the other bed. The covers were askew and someone's head had definitely indented the pillow. His face scrunched up in confusion. _What in bloody hell was she doing in bed with him?_

Hermione sighed in her sleep, a content, kitten smile spreading across her face as she snuggled closer to him. It was tempting to lie back down and accept her slumbering advances but it was far too confusing for his exhausted brain and, he realized with a sudden panic, she had gotten out of bed! How dare she, when she was on bed rest and hadn't even begun to start healing!

"What do you think you're doing, Granger?" he asked, less sharply than he'd intended.

She blinked a few times before turning to look up at him, then her eyes dropped guiltily.

"You were talking in your sleep," she mumbled, as if this was an acceptable answer.

"Oh? And did I happen to invite you to crawl into bed with me?" Draco queried, arching his brow and gesturing with his hand.

"No," she said quietly. "I-"

"You," said Draco as he turned towards her and threw the covers off himself, "are supposed to be on bed rest for the next two weeks. I don't want to see you step another toe out of bed until then."

He must have sounded a lot more stern than he'd meant when he saw a small tear trickle down her cheek. Fuck, he thought in aggravation at himself.

"What's wrong? Are you-are you in pain!?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered shutting her eyes. "I just felt... _safer_ over here."

Draco hadn't realized she'd been shaking and he put a hand on her arm as she lay there, attempting to still her. She was afraid? He thought back to last night, remembering the horrific ordeal she'd been through. Shit, if she felt safer with _him_ , it must really be serious.

"It's all right, we've moved you to St. Mungo's," he explained softly. "You're safe from those men, there's no need to be scared."

Her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up. "I'm not scared of those men. I'm scared of _that_ ," she said clenching her teeth and jutting her chin out in front of her, toward the source of her fear with the gesture.

Draco looked towards where she'd indicated but all he saw in front of them was a table with that disgusting book resting upon it.

"What?"

"That! The _book_!" she cried, slamming her eyes shut, whispering, "It's evil."

Draco was still confused. "That's _your_ book, Granger," he told her. She shook her head furiously.

" _No, it's not!_ It's a blood magic grimoire. You have to pour blood on the pages in order to read it. It showed me such terrible things. It's what was making the aurors..." her voice trailed off weakly and she turned towards Draco, burying her head under his arm. "I know what they were going to do to me. The book showed me," she said, her voice muffled by his clothing.

To this, Draco did not know what to say. He'd never intended to bring up any of the specifics and was certainly never going to tell Hermione how he found her, maybe just ask her what had happened leading up to it. She looked up into his confused face and attempted to explain.

"The book, I could hear it speaking to me, _in my head_ ," she whispered. "I was bleeding out of my bandages and I had pressed a bit of my blood to the pages and it just, started communicating with me."

Draco was struggling to keep up with her account but it was hard not to interrupt with twenty questions.

"You did what!?" But when she looked ashamed once more, he clenched his teeth in his mouth and forced himself to listen carefully.

"It made me read from it. Aloud. When I said the words..." Hermione started and Draco was immediately alarmed. He knew reading from unfriendly spellbooks was extremely dangerous.

"What words?!" he demanded.

"It was ancient Latin," Hermione admitted and a cold shock went down her spine as she remembered the words. "Surgere! A munere sanguis. Paratus sum sentire manus."

"What the bloody hell does that mean, Granger?!"

"It's something like, _Arise! A gift of blood_ or _blood offering._ " Her teeth began to chatter. "Then, it made me say, _I am ready to feel your hands._ That's when...they...the aurors, surrounded me. They were carrying out a ritual to ensure I would never carry a child ever again. Because I'm a Muggleborn witch. The people who made the book would perform it on Muggleborn girls as young as five...destroy their womb...to sterilize them. It _showed_ me, Draco," she whimpered.

She was shaking so badly that Draco felt compelled to hold her against his chest so she wouldn't fall out of the bed. The things she was saying were horrific, he knew she couldn't be making any of it up, but they were almost too terrible to believe. Her eyes went wide as she relived her ordeal.

"These are men I've worked with, fought in combat and trained with...Artemis...Ron and I had been to dinner at his house only last week. He was trying to wrench my legs apart and mount me. Their eyes were so dead, like they just were gone. I could see them all as they surrounded me. The book told them if they got impatient, to just cut more slits into me and rut me into submission; to have their pleasure, _to take it._ " She held her face in her hands and touched it sensuously, closing her eyes slowly. Her fingers drifted to her jawline, one hand slipping past her throat and the other following it until she was cupping her own breasts.

Draco was completely mesmerized and in shock. He had no idea what to say and no idea she remembered that much. His mind immediately recalled the image of the eight men gathered around Hermione, seeking their release through her. They'd exposed themselves and as Hermione struggled and cried out in protest, her breasts bounced and each erect penis seemed to stretch out impossibly towards her.

She should be cowering in fear remembering such a thing, shouldn't she? But, Draco thought as she took in a shuddering breath, things were now taking an unexpected turn. Her breath hitched and she seemed like she was getting involuntarily _aroused_ talking about these things. As if to confirm his suspicions, she snaked one of her legs around his waist where he sat beside her in the bed.

"Draco," she said in breathless confusion as her body scooted forward and attempted to straddle him. When she opened her eyes, he saw her pupils seemed unnaturally dilated. He could feel himself begin to respond underneath her.

 _Shit._ Maybe the book had done more damage than he'd initially thought. Something was terribly, horribly wrong with Hermione if she was acting this way around him. Instead of giving it any acknowledgement, however. Draco decided on the spot it would be best to ignore her strange behavior. The only thing he could do for her now would be to just get her mind off of it. His too. It only took one more look at her to convince him this would not be easy.

"G-Granger, please r-remove yourself. You are obviously...o-overtired and need your r-rest." Draco cleared his throat and swallowed hard. "You've been through a lot in a short amount of time so it's only natural to seek comfort but I think it would be best if we didn't touch each other."

He watched as the flush in her cheeks drained away and she shook her head in dizzy confusion.

"It's all right, just traces of the ritual still fighting inside you. We've got to work on ridding you of them."

Draco watched her carefully as her mind struggled against the remains of her ordeal and new purpose filled her eyes. Her jaw set determinedly.

 _"We have to save them."_

This was not a question or a request. Draco nodded. He expected nothing less of a Gryffindor and he was glad she was not choosing to dwell on the attack against her but he decided to venture carefully, choosing to steer her back to the one thing they had in their possession.

"What kind of book did you say it was?" he asked as gently as he could.

"A blood magic grimoire," she replied in a daze, as she blinked her eyes open. "It wanted to destroy me because it deemed me unworthy to read from it. It showed me what happened to people like me. I think that book binds the reader to _her_."

 _"Who?!"_ Draco couldn't help but interrupt now, this made absolutely no sense to him but crazily enough, it felt somehow familiar too. Hermione lifted her head and locked her eyes on him. Those eyes, Draco thought in wonder. _So deep._ What witchcraft did she possess within those eyes to make him feel like she belonged in his arms? That he should do everything in his power to protect her? He'd been struggling against the urges each day, probably everyday from now on, he thought bitterly. Hermione's own lapses in control weren't making it any easier that was for sure.

 _"The woman made of fire,"_ she said in a hollow voice.

And suddenly, a memory returned to Draco and it was like remembering a nightmare that had been such a blessing to forget.

.

* * *

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	20. Chapter 20

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* * *

.

If it was possible for Draco's eyes to get any wider, his head would simply be two giant tea saucers with a pointed drip of a chin between them.

 _The woman made of fire._

It all came rushing back to him like an unavoidable ocean wave infused with rubbish. His eyes flashed toward where Hermione lay on the bed and he extricated himself gently from under her, stepping away and straightening himself out. He blinked a few times and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to digest it all in his head. He didn't know which question he should be more preoccupied with. How had these memories returned? _How had they been concealed?_ And how was it that he _knew_ Hermione shared them with him?

They were both aware that _thing_ hadn't really been her, but he had only known _after_ the fact. It was powerfully deceptive glamour and he'd participated in the deception, willingly. _Why?_ He'd only just acknowledged his attraction to her, had it existed this strongly before? Was it strong enough that he wanted her to...he pursed his lips, hating himself. He'd let that creature suck it all right out of him, every last drop. It was _disgusting_ and Hermione...

 _She had seen the whole thing. A captive witness._

"I...I didn't," he started saying unable to contain his revulsion at the memory, but to this, she simply shook her head.

"Don't be embarrassed. I know...you were... _not yourself_."

His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch in amused surprise.

"Do you, now? Cause you know me _so well?"_ he queried incredulously with a half smile, which he couldn't help but notice, she did not return by any measure.

"Yes," she said resolutely. "I know you would _never_...not with someone like _me._ Not if you'd been in your right mind, anyway" she imparted quickly without meeting his gaze.

He studied her, trying to unravel the implications of what she had just said. Someone like _her_? _What the hell did that mean?_ His eyes burned into her face, challenging her to look at him. Did she think he still harbored blood prejudices against her? How could he? He'd operated on her! He'd saved her life, hadn't he? It's not like it could be anymore obvious. He'd barely been able to get her off his bloody mind since he'd found her. Did she think that his revulsion was caused by _her_ _likeness_ and not the fact that it had transformed into what appeared to be a burnt hag with something straight out of a nightmare _coming right out of its face_? Didn't she see that it was precisely the likeness of her that had aroused him so much?

The thought hadn't occurred to him but the minute it had, he realized that it was completely true.

He scoffed audibly at her inane statement, unable to vocalize any reply. His skin felt flush as he remembered the way she'd looked at him from her hospital bed at the Ministry. That scenario was the one the creature had mimicked to produce that particular response from Draco's body and he had been powerless to stop it. He'd even wanted to look into her eyes _once he came._ Remembering the gaping black holes that stared back up at him was jarring and he shuddered visibly, realizing his mistake in doing so too late.

Hermione wouldn't even look at him now.

He couldn't stand the the way she was behaving, it made him want to shake her and tell her to stop acting as if she were ashamed. What did _she_ have to be ashamed of? She hadn't done anything wrong. It hadn't even happened to her! It had happened to _him_. He was the fool who had fallen for the trick and given the thing exactly what it wanted. _Why did it want that?_ He cringed, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. But before it could, another memory broke the surface of his mind causing his nostrils to flare as he sucked in a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"What else did you see?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Her eyes shut tightly and turned away from him as if she didn't want to answer. _Oh no, you don't._ Quick as a cat, he rushed to the side of the bed she was closest to and grabbed up her hands. He had to know.

 _"Tell me,"_ he said sternly.

"I...I saw you and I saw _your mother,_ I felt how much you missed her. You've lost her somehow." Her voice wavered slightly. "You were just a little boy and you wanted your mother, you've been so lonely...so _sad_ ," she said quietly, still unable to look at him.

Draco wasn't sure if it was her words, her tone, or simply the sound of her voice speaking honestly to him, but whatever it was, it made the horrific mortification and turmoil he'd been feeling drain away immediately. She made him somehow feel... _understood_ instead of judged. That was a rare sensation for someone like him, for someone who had lived a life such as his, always having to peer at any kindness through the lens of suspicion. He couldn't explain and barely understood the _relief_ and gratitude that washed over him. It was so... _comforting_. He could feel Hermione's empathy touching places inside him that he thought he'd shut off from the world long ago, certain no one could ever reach them.

His eyes lingered over her small form in the bed and without realizing it, his hands had wandered up to her shoulders, continuing their ascent until they arrived at the sides of her throat, and he turned her head so that she _had_ to look at him. As his thumbs grazed the edges of her jawline, he felt her shiver at his touch and her eyes gazed up at him. They were big and brown with little flecks of gold and green in them, like drowned leaves in a rain puddle.

He was powerless to stop himself and watched completely transfixed as the pink shell of her lips began to murmur, _"I saw you as a sleeping child and I..."_

 _Loved you,_ Hermione thought, but she never got a chance to finish her sentence because right then, Draco's thumb brushed over her bottom lip, parting it from the top while his other was tilting her chin up toward his face.

He knew it was wrong.  
He was a Healer and she was his patient, but at that moment, he couldn't help himself.

The old hag's power could not even compare to how spellbound he felt right then.

 _What was this magic?_ he wondered helplessly. He cradled her face in his hands and his unwavering stormy eyes took hold of hers hungrily. She looked almost frightened as she stared back at him _but she never pulled away._ How could she possibly think she was someone he wouldn't want? And more importantly, how could _he_ have ever thought that? And before Draco could stop himself, his tongue was parting her lips until she yielded to his tender advance and both their mouths were melting into one another in urgent, desperate bliss.

Draco knew it was a mistake, but he also knew with utmost certainty, that the only thing he would have regretted _more_ would have been if he had decided **_not_ ** to have kissed her _._

.

* * *

.

There was a chill in the air as the death of September loomed ever closer, October's scythe drawing nearer and nearer to her heart. The promise of mischief was carried in the icy wind that snatched at the clothing and hair of passerby, trying to tear away pieces to feed the impatient _All Hallow's Eve_ horde who were gnawing at the edges in anticipation. The entire upcoming month would be dedicated to tricks and treachery and it seemed everyone bustled and buzzed with excitement, just at the prospect of being scared.

 _Didn't they know there was already so much to be afraid of?_

The trees declared their dormitive recess in vibrant bursts of red, yellow, and every color in between. As the leaves fell to the ground soundlessly, folks walking past the abandoned orchard well halted curiously, wondering if they had actually just heard someone scream from within it? They paused and listened. The wind howled and disheveled their clothing, urging them along the path impatiently. Had they merely imagined it? It was agreed they had and they kept a steady pace as they walked upon the freshly fallen leaves that muffled their footsteps and possibly the cries of the prisoner located underground, right below their feet.

"AHH! I swear! I don't know where it is!" a feeble, mop-headed man cried out in the dim cavern.

 _"You lost it? Incompetent fool._ _OPEN YOUR MOUTH!_ " demanded a vicious voice from above where he lay cowering.

A leather-gloved hand jammed a small, glass vial between his lips. It clicked harshly against his teeth before its contents were forced onto his tongue and he coughed and sputtered as he attempted to swallow his breath.

 _"I'm afraid I do not have time to torture answers out of you, pig,"_ the cold voice sneered silkily. _"But despite this, you_ **will** _give me the information I request."_

Harchird flinched as his captor's shadow crossed over him.

 _"Why were you at my home?"_

"I-I was summoned by the Auror Department, they said they had found some magical creatures in your cellar...needed ah-assistance," Harchird stuttered.

 _"Who gave them permission to go into the cellar?"_

"Dra-Draco Malfoy!" Harchird gulped.

The betrayal stung Lucius but he supposed it was his own fault for raising such a weak fool. He hadn't tried to contact Draco for years and wouldn't have until all the preparations he'd made had been successful toward his final goal. The only reason he even had was simply because it became necessary to do so. She had to be fed by the one who performed the Unforgivable Act. There was no sidestepping that rule. The book had been quite clear.

 _The book._

 _"Where is my book?"_

"I told you, I DON'T KNOW!"

So he had been telling the truth. Lucius' eyes narrowed, inspecting Harchird's ragged face severely.

 _"How did you know how to call her so that she would reveal herself to you?"_

"I-I've been studying these creatures all...all my life," Harchird admitted, struggling against each word.

 _"How did you even know she was there?"_ Lucius persisted.

"I saw the circle of symbols...I recognized them. I've been searching all my life for..."

 _"For what? You dare to name her? You unworthy little mite."_

"NO!" Harchird fought hard to resist the effects of the Veritaserum.

Lucius kicked him hard.

 _"What were you planning on doing with her once you'd smuggled her out of the Ministry?"_ he barked.

"Put her talents to good use, make a fortune..."

 _"Pathetic. Poor little mudblood, searching for the monsters in fairy stories. Well you certainly found one and she will be your doom. Happy?"_

"No, I'm not," Harchird answered, unable to control himself.

 _"Silence!"_ Lucius spat.

He thought a moment and licked his lips hungrily. A wicked smile spread across his lips and he turned back to Harchird.

 _"What happened to those fools once you'd exposed her?"_

"They...they fell about the floor, writhing, driven mad," Harchird cried out, as if the memory pained him.

 _"Yes, as they should,"_ Lucius agreed, already knowing the answer.

 _"How did you escape with her?"_

 _"Ferrum Rete."_

 _"Clever. And I must say I do like that Dragonglass cube, very convenient. You really_ **had** _been searching, eh? Must have been the best day of your life,"_ said Lucius with a mocking laugh. _"Did that auror really die?"_ he asked intently.

"Yes," Harchird replied shuddering.

Lucius sighed and cracked his knuckles idly. _"They shall all die...and so shall_ **you** _,"_ he said pitilessly. _"It is time for the future of magic to go back to its ancient source. I will not have my line contaminated by filth like you and seeing as how the threat looms ever nearer, I have taken what some might call_ **drastic** _measures to keep that from happening. My future generations will soon have the purest blood imaginable,"_ he whispered, his eyes shining intensely from the shadows.

Harchird gaped at him from the floor, his clever mind had worked out this cryptic admission and was not able to believe the conclusion at which it had arrived.

"But it is unheard of! They feed! They cannot be impreg-"

 _"SILENCE, insolent fool! You are but a monkey waving a wand. You cannot even begin to comprehend the magic power I have been intimated with. That is why my lineage will prosper and move forward from this dismal dark age and your kind will perish in the flames. It's what nature intended,"_ he shrugged cruelly.

His eyes ran over the sight of the crumpled man on the floor.

 _"Perhaps I shall impart a bit of knowledge upon you, before she kills you. It's the least I can do, since you are the one who found the pregnant woman and I do owe you a debt for keeping my beauty spry and fresh. Eight years is an awfully long time to go without any sustenance and how wonderful you remembered all her favorite foods,"_ he said with a bone chilling smile.

He fished out another vial from his cloak pocket, uncorked it, and pressed it to Harchird's cracked lips.

 _"There. Drink this,"_ he murmured comfortingly as he watched the curly headed man's eyelids flutter and close.

 _"Afterall, tomorrow is another day..._ **until it isn't** _."_

 _._

* * *

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	21. Chapter 21

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* * *

.

One of Draco's hands was fisted in Hermione's curls while his other was gliding down the slope of her shoulder slowly. He traced her arm lightly enjoying the feel of her skin which was creamy soft and he was eager to touch more. He tried draping her arm around his neck so that she could hold onto him as he pulled her body down the bed but soon his fingers grazed something on her forearm that conflicted remarkably with the otherwise uniform smoothness of the rest her skin. The sudden contrast caused him to look down and inspect what it was.

What he saw horrified him. There on her skin, raised in deep gashes, there was carved a cruel and hateful word:

 ** _mudblood_**

 _Oh, right._ he remembered grimly, cringing within. How could he have forgotten? The sight of the word broke the spell of desire and brought him crashing back into reality.

 _What the hell was he doing?_

She had felt where his fingertips had stopped and _lingered_ , and immediately withdrew from him. He tried to pull her back toward him but she steeled herself against his denotative touch. Draco let out a sullen breath. _He'd fucked up._ It amazed him how small an amount of time it had taken to completely flood the room with so much wretchedness.

With only that one, small pause, he had managed to completely alienate her, bring attention to a disfiguring scar, and simultaneously make her remember exactly how she had come about it, _including_ his own part in the execrable ordeal which, if he was remembering correctly, was simply to _stand there_ and _do nothing_ to help her.

 _That_ was probably why she thought he hated her. His thoughts rushed back to the fateful night she'd been tortured in his family estate. He'd been completely scared for his life back then. Each day seemed to pass like skin being flailed from his body. He had done what he had to in order to survive.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would have easily sacrificed Hermione in order to save his own life and the lives of his mother and father.

Back in those days, they **both** had known it. Back in those days, it seemed to be the _only_ thing he had known.

It was precisely this shame that had made him so anxious to lose himself in his studies and work, he had to make up for a lifetime's worth of mistakes. Once he was singled out and left to totter toward some unknowable future that was so outrageously different from the one he'd come to accept as absolute, it was all his mind would accept as an alternate.

The more he learned, it seemed the less space in his mind the awful memories could occupy. Now they had been let loose. It had only taken seeing that scar to overwhelm him and his head pounded with waves of painful recollection. Hermione should hate _him_ and probably did, Draco thought dejectedly. If she didn't, she probably would once she'd realized he'd just taken advantage of her physical and mental vulnerability. Weasley would be furious no doubt.

 _She'd been attacked_ and was simply seeking comfort and what did he do? He'd pounced on her in a moment of weakness. Before he could inwardly berate himself any longer, he heard Hermione's voice dragging him back to the present.

"You know," she said slowly, not facing him. "You were the first person to ever call me that word. I didn't even know what it meant then." She smiled weakly at her own naivety.

Draco nodded glumly that he understood but she didn't see. His mind struggled to come up with something in reply and failed. Only a snort of self disgust left his nostrils and he watched as her shoulders slumped at the sound, obviously misinterpreting it. _Why did their interactions always have to be so exasperating!_ He couldn't stand to leave things like this between them and was determined that wordless silence would not be his messenger, simply because there was no certainty how much it would say to her. Draco was quite sure her keen mind was already distorting every little reaction of his into the worst possible assumptions and hypotheticals.

"I didn't publicly denounce Blood Purity advocation for mere spectacle. Honestly _,"_ he said with a dark laugh. "I won't insult you by offering up some _too little too late_ apology for what I can't change, but I hope you know at least, that _I_ have." He turned her face towards him once more, his grey eyes piercing into hers as his thumb caressed her cheek. He hoped she could tell he was being sincere. "I wish I could wipe that word from your mind and make it so you'd never heard it or ever had to find out what it meant. _But that word has no power over you._ I knew then, even at twelve, when the despicable thing left my mouth."

He felt her go stock still beside him and she gazed up at him with wide eyed wonder at his admission. Draco found it unbearably tempting to seal his words with another kiss, but it no longer felt appropriate _(not that it ever had)_ so instead he released her face, stepping away stiffly, as if nothing had happened between them at all.

Before Hermione's very eyes, he transformed back into the unflappable Healer Malfoy. His own thoughts went to Potter and the promise he had made to take care of her. Surely he could comfort her in a more conventionally acceptable way and besides, he needed practice improving his bedside manner, truth be told. He should look at this as an opportunity that had conveniently presented itself most fortuitously.

"So," he began lamely. " _How are you feeling?"_

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* * *

.

Ron paced back and forth in the kitchen he shared with Hermione.

"Calm down," Harry pleaded, trying to place a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

 _"CALM DOWN?!_ How do you expect me to calm down after you've just told me Hermione was attacked! I JUST LOST A CHILD! My whole future is crumbling all around me and bloody Malfoy is probably laughing his arse off!"

"Stop it. Malfoy is taking care of her. He saved her, Ron."

"HE CUT HER OPEN AND HE KILLED MY BABY!"

"You've got to stop this, Ron," Harry warned. "I need you to remember that he _had_ to remove the fetus in order to save _her_. You know, the actual, _viable_ human in this situation," Harry tried to reason.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into going home," Ron grumbled under his breath. "Practically gift wrapped her and handed her over to that bloody butcher."

"Surgeon," Harry corrected.

Ron turned towards Harry and tried to make his voice sound calm. "I need to see her, Harry. I need to explain to her that I...I was just trying to _save_ us."

"By forcing her to bear your child? Sounds more like you were trying to sink your own battleship there, mate."

 _"Battle-what?!"_

"Er...nothing. Exactly how did you think _a baby_ was the answer to saving your relationship?"

Ron's face turned sullen and he could not meet his friend's eyes. Harry knew that deep beneath his russet hair and extremely thick skull, Ron knew what he had done was incomprehensible. But Harry wanted to chalk this all up to misunderstanding. Ron was his best friend. He had grown up, well-loved, with a stay at home mom who practically devoted all of herself and all of her time to her home and children. _Did Ron just assume that all women kept to the house after their first child was born? Had that been his intention?_ Harry wondered as the realization dawned upon him.

Didn't Ron understand that had probably been his mother's choice? Harry couldn't imagine Molly Weasley doing anything she didn't want to do and Hermione was no different. What _was_ different were their individual _choices_. Hermione was taking birth control, she had decided to prevent the possibility of pregnancy, and someone who claimed to love her had carelessly and premeditatively taken that prevention away from her through deceit. He shook his head as he arched a brow up at Ron, indicating it had not been a rhetorical question.

"I was _desperate,_ Harry! You all were just...having a keen time fighting dark wizards and unraveling mysterious crimes. She was all writing laws and being congratulated. Meanwhile, I'd been sacked and employed by George out of pity. I felt I was being left behind and she was just...she's just so...when is enough going to be enough for her? We nearly lost our lives trying to save everybody. I just want to settle down and I want her to do the same."

"That's not your decision to make, Ron! Can't you understand that? Don't you see how messed up what you did was?"

"I just need to explain to her. I know she'll understand, come on. She's my Hermione."

 _Was,_ Harry thought dourly. He took a look around the messy house. Hermione had only been away for a few days and it already looked wrecked. There were food encrusted plates in the sink, dirty clothes piling up in the bin, trash in the hamper, crumbs all over the floor where Ron had obviously been standing and eating. He looked out the garden window and saw to his dismay, freshly laundered sheets hanging on the line that were soaked with a full day's worth of English rain. She didn't need a baby, thought Harry sardonically, she already had one. A six foot, gluttonous, ginger baby who thought purposefully impregnating his girlfriend was a romantic way to tell her he wanted her to settle down and stick close to home.

Hermione couldn't have accepted that but would have, resenting Ron every second of their lives together. Nature had intervened, thank Merlin. Harry bit his chapped lips as he considered what to do. He would be leaving on Robard's orders soon to try and track down the attacker, forger, smuggler, _and_ thief and he still had to talk with Hermione and Malfoy to try and corroborate their stories and see if they had been able to regain their memories. Ron would more than likely want to tag along and Harry thought it best he be on hand for the inevitable confrontation, just in case Ron tried to kill Malfoy or abduct Hermione out of foolish desperation.

"Right," he said, more to himself than to Ron. "Let's go."

"Really? Okay, but first, help me find Crookshanks. Hermione'll never forgive me if she finds out I've lost that bloody cat."

"Um...about that," Harry trailed off with a grimace. He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

"Come on Harry, don't make a bad situation worse," Ron joked but Harry took the statement at face value. If Ron found out Malfoy had come into their home last night and snuck off with Crookshanks...Harry sighed in frustration. He'd just gotten Ron to calm down a little and that had taken hours. Well, there was no avoiding it. He wasn't going to pretend to look for the cat when he knew perfectly well where he was.

"Crookshanks is with Hermione at St. Mungo's," Harry divulged with a sigh.

"Was that _you_ then last night?" Ron asked scratching his head while he sat to put his shoes on. "Why didn't you come up and say anything? Scared me half to death."

"It wasn't _me_ ," Harry admitted with a grimace, waiting for the inevitable backlash that was soon to follow.

"Then who-" Ron's brilliant, blue eyes spread wide on his face which began turning as red as his hair. "No...Harry...NOT HIM! _He wasn't!_ In- _In our house?!_ "

"Hermione wanted Crookshanks and Malfoy was just trying to help. She's been through a horrific ordeal, it was nice of him, Ron," Harry said slowly, showing his palms in attempt to quell Ron's sudden rage.

"I'm gonna break his pointed chin," Ron seethed.

 _Lovely_ , thought Harry. _This was going to be fun._

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* * *

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Hermione sighed as she settled back into her own hospital bed. She'd spilled her guts to Draco and once she had, she felt very soothed. He didn't interrupt and he didn't try to play Devil's advocate, he just let her talk. Sometimes, she would notice, especially when he mentioned Ron, his grey eyes would flash and his jaw would go tight but other than that, he just listened with an occasional nod here and there. It was uncanny. She felt so close to him and the fact that he was allowing her to unburden herself on him, only made those feelings stronger.

Draco could hardly believe what he was hearing. _Transfigured birth control pills? What the devil could the man have been thinking?_ he wondered in disgust. She told him about Ron's family, how his mother was really pressuring them both to tie the knot, and how he'd already planned a baby shower and proposal.

"On my birthday, if you can believe it," she said with a mirthless smile.

It was obvious to Draco that Ron wanted everyone to think he was simply being sweet and "doing the right thing" but he could see the celebration for what it really was: a public spectacle to show everyone exactly where he believed Hermione's proper place to be. This baby was his fast track to the life _he_ wanted and that was why he'd been so adamant that Draco save it. Without it, she was free to leave, to sever the bond completely. Granger deserved so much better than someone who cowered in her shadow. She deserved someone who would stand by her and achieve their own greatness without resenting her for achieving her own.

Draco thought back to S.P.E.W. in addition to the latest reform bill she'd penned that had recently passed. He had to admit, _she_ was Gryffindor through and through. Ron had been housed there because of Nepotism, Draco was convinced. If he hadn't had five siblings before him and had been standing on his own, he'd have been sorted into Hufflepuff for sure. That was where the Sorting Hat obviously housed all the prudes, pigs, proles, pacifists, prats, and purse-holders.

 _Puffs_ , Draco thought with all the wickedness of a reminiscent Slytherin.

Hermione had grown quiet and Draco ceased his nostalgic romp to drag his chair a little closer to her bedside. He'd always felt very protective of all his patients but he knew somehow she had shared something that was very difficult for her talk about. He still couldn't comprehend why she was with someone who was so clearly delusional, someone who would sacrifice her happiness for their own, it sounded vaguely familiar but Draco couldn't recognize why, he only felt very wise to have avoided any burgeoning domestic relationships, thus far.

"Well, you won't have to worry about being a mother until you want to be, _if_ you want to be," he added quickly.

The sentence did not have the positive effect he'd hoped for. Quite the opposite in fact. Hermione shut her eyes, as if the words had suddenly appeared before her in the air and just seeing them hurt. Her lips quavered and her face was immediately downcast as she took in a deep breath. There was no trying to hide from it any longer, she thought. The baby was gone, deep down she'd always known, she just couldn't face it until now. Her hands shook as she brought them up to her face, covering it, and he could barely hear her whisper.

 _"I'm so ashamed..."_

Draco's features screwed up into disbelief. _What did she have to be ashamed of?_ She was the one who had been betrayed, tricked, and assaulted.

 _"...because I was... **relieved** ,"_ she finished as her throat cracked and tears spilled out of her eyes.

He stared at her, absolutely perplexed. She should want revenge, she should be livid, screaming, cutting the man's dick off, Draco thought. Instead she felt, _shame?_

 _"_ I didn't want the baby but I couldn't..." she trailed off unable to finish. "We were growing apart and I realize now I didn't want to be with him anymore but we'd settled into such a familiar pattern and it was scary to think about that being disrupted so I-I just, lost myself in my work. I was working so hard to make things better _everywhere_...but with Ron. Isn't it the most evil thing? I'm...I'm actually _happy_ that the baby is gone," she admitted, uncovering her face and wiping at her eyes.

 _"Are you?"_ queried an acid-soaked voice from the doorway. "I'm ever so glad. Maybe we should throw a bloody party for you, eh? Seeing as how you got exactly what you wanted! But hey, what's new?" Ron spat as he stalked into the room. " **You're a monster**. How can you sit there and say you're happy _OUR BABY IS DEAD!?_ " he shouted, advancing toward the bed.

He didn't get very far however, because Draco stepped in front of him, shielding Hermione from Ron's accusative stare.

 _"Get out,"_ Draco said in a dangerously low voice.

"Don't you tell me what to do! Stop meddling in my family affairs, Malfoy!" Ron bellowed, trying to push Draco aside and failing. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

"Family? Don't make me laugh, Weasley. Having a family is a choice people make together. One person doesn't force the other into it, unless they're a cowardly fool. _Ohhh,"_ he said in mock consideration. " _Noooow_ I get it. Just your style, then, eh?" he sneered with a wink.

Ron's face looked about ready to explode and he clamped his hand down on Draco's shoulder and drew his arm back to throw a punch which Draco easily dodged. Ron's rage was making him clumsy and before he knew it, Draco had his wand pointed at Ron's throat.

 _"Stop it!"_ Hermione cried from the bed.

She could hear footsteps pounding closer from the hallway and felt relieved when she saw Harry burst into the room.

 _"OI!"_ he shouted at the two combative wizards. "Put away your wand, Malfoy."

"Then get him under control, Potter. He's disrupting my patient's recovery."

Harry glanced at Hermione and she looked away, her cheeks blossoming a faint scarlet as her hands pulled the covers up around tighter. Draco would not look away from Ron. _The stupid git,_ he thought, narrowing his eyes. Couldn't he see she felt utterly destroyed about what had happened to the baby? A baby whose entire existence and demise had been completely his own fault? And he had the nerve to vocalize and confirm her worst fears about herself. Draco hadn't even noticed he felt Hermione's self-deprecation. He was hardly aware of the connection that seemed to have materialized between them, signaling each to the other's mental and emotional straining.

"Come on, Ron. I need to talk to them about what has been happening. Wait for me in the lobby," Harry insisted.

Ron gaped at him in shocked silence. Harry was siding with _Malfoy_?

"But I need to talk to her! You said I would be able to talk to her! What the hell is _he_ doing here, anyway?" Ron bleated.

"You really think calling her a monster is a good way to start a conversation? And after what you put her through? _You're the monster, Weasley,"_ Draco condemned severely, realizing with a sudden chill, he felt as if he were being given a chance to speak directly to his past self.

The words seemed to hit Ron like a punch to the gut. He furrowed his brow and looked around to where Hermione lay on the bed. She wasn't looking at him but he could see light reflecting off the trails of her tears.

"Hermione? Please, don't let them do this. I'm sorry. I didn't...I-I wasn't _thinking._ "

"No, I don't imagine you do that often, do you? Face it, Weasel. You've been outgrown... **and you know it** _,"_ said Draco disdainfully. "Now remove yourself from my sight before I sic the security wards on you."

Ron looked again at Hermione, parting his mouth as if he wanted to say something but upon seeing her face, he felt ashamed and closed it. Draco, without letting his eyes drift from Ron's, spoke instead.

"Did you want to talk to him?"

Everyone and everything in the room seemed to go still and silent after Draco asked this question. Hermione looked up, knowing it had been directed at her and that everyone was waiting for her answer. Her eyes floated from Ron, with his stupid, hopeful eyes to Harry, who was furrowing his brow, confused by this sudden, albeit considerate, change of heart coming from the blonde Healer.

Hermione didn't want to speak, especially with the both of them staring so attentively at her, knowing she was still furious _with both of them._ A twinge of puzzlement pricked her mind. Why did she feel angry with Harry, too? She was not entirely aware her mentality was being provoked by Draco's feelings toward Ron and met the ginger's gaze with cold, narrowed eyes. She clenched her teeth and shook her head _'No'_ very slowly, enjoying the crushed and defeated expression his face sunk into. Draco didn't need to turn around to see her answer, he just knew.

"Off you go then," he said with an air of finality, flicking his eyes toward the door.

Harry deemed it necessary to escort Ron out of the room to make sure he wouldn't be back to further upset Hermione, unaware that beings without ears had already heard his furious testimony and judged how best to hurt her with it later. Worse still, no one even bothered to notice the little black finch perched in the fanlight above, watching intently as the scene unfolded below, with its shiny, ink-drop eyes.

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	22. Chapter 22

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* * *

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Draco gaped at the vial Harry had thrust at him, eyeing it quizzically. _Surely he couldn't be asking for...no. Was he daft?_ Draco wondered. His eyes shifted from the vial to Harry's face, narrowing in scrutiny as he gazed up at the cowlick-headed young auror with a dubious smirk.

"And what, pray tell, is _that_ for, Potter?"

"Your memory," Harry shrugged matter of factly.

"You really think I'm just going to hand over a memory? I'm sorry, have we not been introduced?" Draco asked sarcastically as he swiveled in his office chair.

"Well, I figured this way would be easier. Hermione already has," Harry said as held up another vial with a wispy string of silver smoke in it for Draco to see. "Unless you'd like to tell me about your own encounter?"

Draco colored at the suggestion. He was afraid Hermione might have mentioned it when Harry asked to speak to her alone first. His initial choice had been not to trust _The Chosen One,_ simply because it had been so fully ingrained in him, ever since their first day at Hogwart's. Besides, aurors always seemed to be bungling up their missions no matter how simple, and seeing how this was arguably more complicated, he didn't want to risk more of the same.

Besides, _he_ was the one who who risked having his wand snapped in half if there was even the slightest chance he was connected negatively to this case whatsoever. They hadn't been able to catch even a _sighting_ of Lucius all these years and although Harry might be _The Boy Who Lived,_ how many people had had to _die_ to earn him that title?

But once Draco had made his way to his office and remembered how Harry hadn't rubbed anything from the past in his face, his resolve began to wane. On the one hand, he could tell Harry about his father and Harchird and leave it up to him to ferret out their hidey holes and on the other, it was just a matter of time before the Ministry figured out Harchird was their number one suspect and that he'd smuggled one of Lucius' pets out of Level 4 Appropriations.

Of course, _if_ Draco told Harry everything, then good ol' Perpetual Potter could just get down to the bottom of the whole mysterious ordeal. No one expected Draco to do it, that was certain. But no matter how tempting it was to simply wash his hands of the matter, he just couldn't shake the horrible, niggling stubbornness which set him at odds with doing so. _Why let Potter play the hero all their lives?_ Draco was of the opinion Harry should be quite exhausted of it by now. He sighed deeply, hoping he sounded more irritated than thoughtful.

"Well if she's given you _her_ memory, you should have enough there to know what the thing looks like," Draco said, shrugging to hide the nervous twitch of his shoulders.

"It'd be nice to have something _else_ to compare it to. Am I correct in assuming that this _thing_...its appearance...er... _changed_...when you encountered it?"

Draco's eyes flashed and the blood in his veins rushed to his head. Had Hermione told Potter about _his_ experience? The very thought made him furious.

 _"What the hell did she tell you, Potter?"_ he demanded, carelessly raising his voice.

Harry was taken aback and immediately suspicious. It wasn't surprising to him that Draco did not want to hand over one of his memories, but he had become noticeably angry when he thought Hermione had told Harry about his own encounter. This obviously made it seem like Draco hoped to hide something from the young auror.

"Nothing," Harry confessed much to Draco's surprise. "I couldn't even get her to look at me and when it was clear she wasn't going to talk, I asked her if she would surrender the memory for inspection," Harry said with a glum shrug as he slumped to sit in the chair opposite his companion. "She just nodded, leaving me to retrieve it." He shook his head and made a face. "Only I think I buggered it up and extracted a nightmare instead of a memory. I was never really very good at digging into people's heads. Ugh! I can hardly see what's going on in the damn thing."

Draco snorted derisively. "With your eyesight? _I'm shocked._ Am I to believe you have a Pensieve in your pocket then, Potter?" Draco queried, enjoying the alliteration.

Harry grinned at Draco as he pulled Hermione's vial from his pocket, turned it upside down upon one finger, and tapped the bottom gently with another. Draco tried to mask his amazement as a small, transparent disc appeared on Harry's finger like a giant dew drop.

 _"What in Merlin's beard is that?"_ Draco asked, unable to conceal his curiosity.

"Something of my own invention," Harry answered a bit too pleased with himself for Draco's liking. "I call it a _Lensieve."_ Harry thought he might have better luck if he could convince Malfoy they were a team and enlist him for assistance. "Here, watch this with me, will you?" he requested, handing Draco the newly made lens. "Put in on your eye, like so," Harry said as he demonstrated on himself.

Draco was skeptical, but willing. New magic was always rather exciting to him. Putting the _Lensieve_ on his eye was quite an odd sensation but when his vision became disrupted and his office surroundings disappeared as curtains of inky distortion dropped all around him, it was utterly disconcerting.

He was experiencing the situation through Hermione's eyes and mindset. They listened to scratching on the floor which her mind attributed to a small dog. But really it didn't matter what it was because she hadn't a care in the world. Draco was actually quite sure she knew it wasn't a puppy but because she wanted it to be a puppy... _it was a puppy!_ And the very same one her grandmother had owned, at that.

 _This is so fucking bizarre,_ Draco thought. Harry winked his non-lensed eye open to peek at him.

"Okay, hold on, we're getting to the scary part."

 _"Bloody hell!"_ Draco exclaimed. Although he had seen it before, the initial introduction to this monster still hadn't acclimated him to how horrifying it truly was and seeing it suddenly illuminated by wandlight alone while everything else was shrouded in darkness was indeed, _scary_. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust and said,

"This thing is like a living _Mirror of Erised,"_ Harry commented.

"I say it's more like a Boggart," Draco disagreed.

"It saw into her mind and gave her exactly what she wanted!"

"Yeah, but it's scary as fuck," said Draco shuddering.

"But it gave her what she _wanted,_ " Harry stressed.

 _"What, the dog?_ Granger certainly has an affinity for having pets handy in times of crisis," Draco remarked blandly.

"No, no. It somehow _knew_ what it was reminding her of or...something." Harry paused, frustrated with his own inarticulateness and lack of understanding. "Look at it again, see? When she's putting her hand out and thinks it's the dog? It made her think she was back at her grandmother's, didn't you hear her? She said she wanted _to be that little girl again_. It's like she thought she'd been granted a wish to go back in time or something. Back to a time before she was..."

"Pregnant?" Draco offered dryly. It was pretty obvious to him and he was becoming annoyed with Harry for wanting to talk this whole thing out. The creature obviously transformed into whatever it was its victim wanted and while distracted or incapacitated, it took what _it_ wanted.

"Er...Yeah," said Harry as he rubbed his temples. "At least it didn't get the baby. I mean, I know you ended up taking it, but at least it didn't get it," Harry said a bit flustered.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Potter."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.

"When I did the surgery, the fetus had been sucked dry. It looked hollowed out...but the worst part was...that it was still _alive_."

 _"WHAT?!"_

"I didn't tell Granger. I didn't think she should know."

Harry nodded and licked his lips. "It's like something straight out of a nightmare, isn't it?" he said suggestively.

Draco looked long and hard at Harry, sensing he was holding something back. When he realized what it was, he could hardly believe it.

"You don't believe her," he accused in stunned mystification.

Harry cringed at the words. "I _do_. It's just...memories are heavily affected by perception, right? Maybe she was drugged or something, I don't know. All I know is I've never seen anything like this, have you? What kind of creature instills a sense of... _peace_ in their victim so they're totally unconcerned with whether what they're seeing is real or not? You felt it! She wanted nothing more than to believe it was real, even though she _knew_ it wasn't. How was it able to control her perception of reality while simultaneously making her a willing participant in the deceit?" Harry was becoming redundant as he tried to cross examine the situation. Typical auror tactic, Draco thought bitterly. He began gesturing with his hands, which was never a good sign as far as Draco could tell. "Okay, first, it's a puppy. Then, it's an old woman with an unhinged jaw and a vacuum attachment for a mouth..." He glanced back at Draco whose eyes had started to mist over with disinterest but Harry misinterpreted it for mere incomprehension. "Oh, sorry. A vacuum is-"

"I _know_ what it is, Potter," Draco said snidely as he rolled his eyes. "How can you not believe her? She's your best friend, isn't she? The puppy was definitely a trick but I assure you, that old hag wasn't. _I know_ because I saw her, too. My father has gotten mixed up in some very dark magical dealings. There's a fair chance what we're dealing with is something not even a ghost could give us knowledge about, it's that old."

"Well, can you tell me about that? Anything would probably help," persuaded Harry.

The last thing Draco wanted to do was disclose what the creature had turned into for _him_. He had to think of something quick before Harry could press the issue. He inspected Hermione's memory again. There was no mention or recollection of Harchird and her mind had just skimmed over the cursed book, Harry hadn't even noticed it. If Hermione wasn't speaking to Harry he probably wasn't going to find out about it anytime soon and Draco wanted to have a crack at it before him.

"Sorry, it's uh...still a bit fuzzy." Suddenly a lightbulb went on inside Draco's head. "Can I ask you something, Potter?"

"Sure," Harry agreed.

 _"How could you bring that vile bastard here?_ After what he did? I thought you wanted her to get bet-"

"He needed to see her in order to know that it was _over_ between them!" Harry interrupted sternly, trying to control how defensive he instantly felt. "I brought him here to _assist_ with her recovery."

It had worked. Potter was now distracted with his attempt to rationalize his inane behavior.

"You don't know them like I do, Malfoy. If I hadn't brought him with me, he would have just been more insistent and aggravating. And I didn't want there to be any chance that _she'd_ start feeling guilty enough to entertain the idea of them getting back together. She's brave, but not _entirely_ aware of what she's above tolerating. You have no idea how easy it is for him to manipulate her."

Draco couldn't really agree with Harry about this. Hermione had seemed quite decisive earlier or was at least sure she no longer wanted to be with _He Who Must Be Shamed._

"Hopefully some time apart will help Hermione see she's not the one to blame because it didn't work out." Harry shook his head and scrunched the corner of his lip into his cheek. "You have to admit it's gotta be scary; To be so certain, for _so long_ about the way your life will turn out, and then in the middle of it, realize you no longer want that anymore..." He paused to give Draco a meaningful look. "I'm sure you can relate anyway," he said with a sad smile.

Although Draco could not bring himself to return the smile, he was inclined to agree.

Yes, he could _definitely_ relate.

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* * *

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Darting left and right, the little black finch had flown through the corridors of St. Mungo's as it followed the red headed young man storming out the front doors. It probed into his mind and was immediately immersed in a whirlwind of desperate thoughts.

The bitter sting of betrayal from a friend.  
The anguish of a confident plan failing miserably.  
The loss of a bright love grown scornful and wasted.  
The frustration of being misunderstood.  
The regret from trying to force another to do something they didn't want to.  
The shock at how little time it took to ruin everything.  
The fear of always being common and inadequate...

Lucius chuckled to himself as he sifted through these trifling little baubles ornamenting the insecure mind of Ronald Weasley. _Pathetic fool._ His winged extension concentrated fixedly upon its prey, holding him tightly in its shiny black eyes. Lucius licked his lips, letting his fair hair slide over one side of his face as he focused very hard and planted an idea into Ron's head, encouraging him to dwell on it for the remainder of the day. It was something simple and seemingly innocuous. _Something he could relate to_ , _something that would be easy to influence later,_ decided Lucius dryly.

 **I am sad because Hermione is gone.**

But this cunning snake, twisted the words ever so slightly. He made it so they sounded _almost_ the same, however, the meaning had changed entirely.

 _I am mad because Hermione is wrong._

He felt Ron's mind accede to his prodding suggestion and agree wholeheartedly, with absolutely no resistance. Lucius nodded affirmatively. Good, the impressionable fool had accepted the seed and now Lucius was free to make the most of what it grew into. He would need more pure-blooded males soon, she was always most beautiful when she was well fed and these past years in exile with nothing to eat had taken their toll.

Soon she would have a more _varied_ diet.

A satisfied smile spread across his face as he spread his hand out into the air, then clamped it swiftly shut in a crushing motion. No one saw the little bird crumple in on itself, leaving only a few black feathers floating toward the street. The rest of the poor little birdie disintegrated into nothing more than dust that somehow, some way found itself being breathed into the lungs of none other than Ronald Weasley.

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* * *

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After an exhausting interview with Harry, Draco wanted nothing more than to go home, shower, and sleep. But something bothered him as he recalled the conversation he'd had earlier with Hermione and he couldn't get it off his mind. Today had been the day Ron would have thrown the consolidated bridal and baby shower for her, completely ignoring the day for what it actually was. _Her birthday._

He shook his head in disgust and began rummaging through a cabinet until he found a small container of salve.

It was something he had been working on for years but he'd only been able to make enough for one use. He'd been hoping to surprise his mother with a show of transformation once her memory had returned, but there seemed little possibility of that happening now. He nodded to himself decisively.

 _Hermione's needs were greater than his own._

Draco wasn't sure if she would want to see him. After her interaction with Harry, it seemed as though she didn't want any visitors or to talk to anyone at all, and Draco was worried that maybe she'd realized what a horrendous dereliction of duty he'd committed against her.

When he entered the room, she glanced up and her eyes followed him as he went about the room checking to make sure he hadn't left anything behind before he went home. Her mind put together what he was doing and Draco could have sworn he saw a flash of fear cross her face as she acknowledged he intended to leave her soon.

"I'll be back in the morning," he reassured. "Is there anything you need before I go?"

She shook her head and Draco took this silent reply as an indication that she did not want to talk, so he nodded politely, pausing to fish something out of his pocket. He gazed at it for a moment before placing it lightly on her bedside table and stepping away.

"For you," he explained. "For your scar. Happy Birthday, Granger."

With that, he turned and made for the door, not even able to look in her eyes because he was afraid of the loathing he might find there. She probably wanted to hex him or something and Draco could hardly blame her. He would have to show her he could be trusted to take care of her professionally in the days to come.

If he had looked into her eyes, however, he would have found only surprise and growing affection, which he could actually feel but it confused him and he didn't trust it. His hand reached for the doorknob but before he could even turn it, he heard a soft whisper.

 _"Don't go."_

He turned around to face her, not quite sure if he had heard correctly. The wistful sorrow emanating from her small body startled him. She rose to her knees on the bed and his jaw set tight in his mouth as he tried to steel himself against the urge to rush over and pull her up into his arms. She looked so frightened and _alone..._ and with a sinking feeling, Draco realized she _was_ alone.

Potter would be going wherever his investigation took him and had neglected acknowledging his best friend's birthday in his due diligence. Her parents were apparently lost and she'd just ended things with that blockhead Weasley. Draco took a small step toward the bed and allowed her to reach for his hand without yanking it away like he knew he should.

"Please stay," she requested in the sweetest voice he could ever recall speaking to him. Her eyes had indicated the bed opposite her own, and Draco's stiff posture began to melt against her touch. He nodded his assent slowly as the realization blossomed in his mind.

 _She didn't hate him_ even if he thought she should. Her hands were now cupping his face and her lips were moving dangerously closer to his own. He watched her, feeling so stunned that his heart began to beat against his chest. _Tap, tap, tap_. But Hermione's face was suddenly thrown off its intended course as she turned to look at the window, and it took him a little while to figure out the tapping wasn't his heart, but an owl trying to get their attention.

He barely registered flicking his wand, and watched in a dreamlike state as the the bird flew in and stuck a taloned leg out towards him. He hazily untied the envelope but his eyes widened in wakefulness as he read the name of the sender.

* * *

 _Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic._

* * *

Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance and he tore it open at once. Inside there was what appeared to be an inventory list written in spidery cursive and a small silver key folded within a bit parchment which read,

 _"Just in case you changed your mind."_

 _._

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	23. Chapter 23

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A few days had passed since Draco had received the inventory list and much to his surprise, Hermione didn't appear to have much interest in it. He had been fairly certain he would have to firmly tell her this was one dangerous mission she was going to have to steer clear from...but she never even brought it up. He soon discovered that the key opened an Appropriations locker in the Ministry and had been allowed to remove items that were not suspected to contain any harmful magic. He decided on a couple of books, coal and chalk, and a case full of mysterious canisters, compacts and vials. The vials contained some gloopy substance the color of ink, _or blood,_ Draco thought darkly as he examined one.

Hermione had withdrawn into herself and only spoke to him if she thought he was leaving. She didn't ever seem to want to be alone and wouldn't tell him why. It was immensely frustrating. Her body was healing very well but her mind had obviously been scarred by the events. Because she was what St. Mungo's referred to as a _Priority Patient_ (meaning her celebrity status), Draco found the only updated chart brought to him at the start of each day was her own and had a sneaky suspicion Potter was to blame for this.

It was obvious special strings had been pulled for Draco to be allowed to stay in the same room with her like a bodyguard and this, paired with Hermione's unexpected monophobia, might have made Draco feel somewhat like an unwilling mother, himself. However, he soon found himself more than willing. They took their meals together in her room with very little conversation and Draco didn't mind, quite the contrary. It was just nice to know there was another heartbeat in the room, there was no forced conversation, and he didn't find their shared silence the slightest uncomfortable.

The palpable tension he felt whenever she would get close to him definitely was, however.

The hospital had issued Hermione a cane in which she could store her wand and use to help secure her mobility. It had a healing crystal topping the knobbed handle and Draco cringed inwardly whenever he saw her hobbling about with its assistance. It reminded him too much of his father and since Hermione never wanted to go exploring the grounds on her own, he had to accompany her and consequently accompanying him, were his thoughts of Lucius. He hadn't thought of his father so much since he'd left school and there was no break from him now that Hermione had been thrust into Draco's life.

His eyes couldn't help looking at her. In fact, due to the extremely thin nature of the hospital dressing gowns, little was left to the imagination. He could see the darkened circles of her nipples blushing underneath the translucent cloth and his mind would involuntarily replay the image of her forged copy dropping to its knees to pleasure him. It had been a blessing he hadn't actually seen Hermione's doppleganger with his cock in its mouth, because that image would have sent him over the edge.

What he _had_ seen had been like a splash of icy cold water on his already spent and sensitive member.

Draco couldn't even go to the bathroom to take care of any random and inappropriate erections he would get because after five minutes, Hermione would wander from her room in search of him. If he took a shower, she would sit outside in the hallway and wait for him. The worst thing by far, was that every night she would fall asleep in her own bed but the next day he would wake up to find her sleeping in _his_.

This morning had been no exception. Draco awoke, feeling the now familiar shape of her body, pressed against the back of his; her arm slung round his waist, and her hand dangling a little too close to something that ached for her to touch it. He never gave in to the temptation to pounce on her, no matter how strong the pull was to do so. He told himself she just wanted a little security and this was just a coping mechanism she had invented to get her through all the terrible things that had happened.

Draco noticed in a glance that she hadn't used the salve for her visible scar and wondered why. He'd given it to her in an honest effort to cheer her up, but realized it might have been construed as a rather thoughtless gift, but she didn't say anything about it so he didn't push her. Maybe it had only served to make her feel more self-conscious of the cursed scrawls etched into her arm and she probably figured he had only offered it to her in an attempt to assuage his own guilt. He shook his head as they ate lunch together, convinced there was no use in guessing at any of her reasons, especially since he knew she would never disclose any of them to him.

Besides, there were far more pressing matters for him to deal with. He went over the list once more and noticed that each book he'd taken was accounted for on it _except_ for the book Hermione had been found with. He had no doubt it belonged to his father but it seemed the Ministry was not aware of its existence. He'd never seen a book like it and sincerely hoped he never would.

After performing a simple charm, he discovered the cover was made of tanned human flesh. The pages, paper thin grafts of skin. The few words he'd found on the even fewer marked pages were definitely quilled in blood. The strange stitching appeared to be dried cords of sinew and he shuddered, realizing if the book was staying true to its theme, they too, had come from a person...or worse, from _people_.

He looked up, regarding Hermione as she spooned soup into her mouth listlessly and studied his patient for a moment. Damn, the minute he needed ol' swotty Granger, she was nowhere to be found. Maybe she was bored? Or the sadness she felt was not allowing her mind to become interested in books and research as it had always done before? She needed something else to occupy her mind and Draco didn't know what might happen if he continued allowing her to keep using him. _Perhaps another pregnancy,_ he joked to himself, instantly horrified at where his mind had lead him. _Pull it together, man,_ he chided internally. _She is the smartest witch of our age, pick her bloody brain._

"Granger?" he posed carefully.

She looked up at him, simply to show she was listening.

"What do you think...?" he eyed her curiously as he picked the book up. It seemed to vibrate with energy the minute he touched it. He had inspected it once before when she had first told him about her suspicions that it was possessed by an evil entity and he had been quite inclined to agree with her. He watched as Hermione's blank eyes instantly flooded with panic once she saw him touch the thing and Draco winced as her spoon clattered to the floor loudly, spilling soup down her gown. She sighed in agitation, attempting to mask her terror and Draco realized with a start that she was about to strip her soiled gown off right in front of him.

 _"Scourgify,"_ he cast before she could get it off her shoulders. "There you go, no need to make the hospital elves do extra work, you know," he scolded, appealing to her unique sense of propriety.

She gave him the ghost of a smile and he raised his eyebrows expectantly, holding the book up once more.

"So...What do you think would happen if I were to put _my own blood_ on the page?" he proposed, undeterred by her initial reaction.

He watched her gulp down a breath and hoped she wouldn't begin to hyperventilate but he could hear her teeth chattering in her mouth and realized sympathetically, just how afraid of the book she actually was.

.

* * *

.

Hermione couldn't believe the words that were coming out of Draco's mouth. Hadn't she already informed him that the book was evil and had tried to kill her? Did he want it to kill him? What was even worse was that somehow, the book _still_ had a pull on her. But she didn't want to have to tell him that just to get him to stop touching it. She could hear it speaking to her when she tried to sleep or anytime she was alone and could barely stomach the things it told her. It kept repeating what Ron had screamed at her. _She was a monster. She was happy their baby was dead._ And it would show her the scolex finding the fetus and sucking it dry of its living fluid.

She couldn't get the image of out her mind so she focused all her attention on the only other daily constant in her life. Draco.

When she first started slipping into his bed at night, he didn't shrink away from her or seem angry and he had even had enough grace to pretend he was sleeping long enough for her to creep back to her own bed the following morning. Hermione guessed with certainty that he wasn't aware that a large portion of the night she spent in his bed, she wasn't really sleeping either. Instead, she would lay awake, trying to control the urge to kiss or touch him in any way that would cause him to wake up. It was absolutely unbearable but the only thing more so, was attempting to stay in her own bed throughout the whole night.

That was pretty much impossible at this point.

It felt like her mind was sinking deeper into a bog of stagnant misery and she wasn't quite sure how to pull it free. Admitting to it would make her feel ridiculous, she was sure. She'd experienced so many things in the last fifteen years that would probably thrust most people down a rabbithole of crippling depression but so far, she'd persevered. So why should today be any different? She had helped to defeat the darkest wizard of all time, been tortured by evil, and tormented by nasty Horcruxes and she was determined not to allow herself to be cowed by a few bad months. So she kept telling herself she was fine, she could do this, no problem.

"Granger?" Draco asked, trying to mask his worry with impatience by her lack of response.

"I don't think you should do it," she said haughtily, turning her back to him.

"But you said once you'd put your blood on it, the page filled in," Draco tried to reason.

"No, it didn't. It wrote out an incantation and forced me to read it aloud!" she snapped, trying to mask her terror with irritation.

Now Draco frowned. He hadn't meant to upset her and she knew that, but Hermione found it difficult to stay level-headed about any of this. She wasn't feeling like herself and although she and Draco had hardly built up a lengthy rapport, she could tell he was beginning to wonder. He definitely seemed worried, anyway.

"But we haven't much else to go on here and well, I have a feeling that the book requires blood because it was written by..." he wasn't really sure how to phrase it without offending her.

"A _Blood_ Supremacist?" she guessed in a chilly tone.

"Yeah, exactly," he agreed. "I think it was able to assess that you were a-" his eyes drifted to the scar on her arm and he hated himself when he realized she'd noticed.

"All the more reason not to read from it," she interrupted with an indifferent shrug, hoping Draco couldn't tell how scared she was.

That was exactly the reaction Draco was afraid of. He would have much more preferred if she'd actually got angry or even cried, anything with a bit more animation involved. Hermione wasn't... _Hermione_ , he realized with a shock. His surprise had less to do with the fact that she wasn't herself and more with how he could know it so plainly. It was starkly obvious to him. The healer in Malfoy suspected it was a symptom of something more sinister, something that was affecting her mind, and decided he would have to read further on the matter at a more convenient time. Perhaps later tonight, he contemplated, after she'd fallen asleep.

Hermione however, had been entertaining other ideas.

In order to protect Draco, she would need to get his mind off _that damn book,_ before it destroyed them both.

.

* * *

.

 _Fwump!_ Harry's feet hit the hearth of the fireplace and his teeth rattled inside his skull. He hated traveling by International Floo but flying to South America by broom hardly seemed prudent. It was sure a lot of ocean to cross, anyway. It was his first time visiting _Castelobruxo_ , but school was in full swing and he didn't want to disrupt class by summoning a much loved professor back to England for a fortnight.

"Senhor Potter, I prazoom?" asked a pleasant feminine voice.

"Yes, pleased to meet you..." Harry hesitated to give the woman a moment to introduce herself. He was glad he didn't have to bother with a translation charm, those spells were always difficult for him.

"My name es Giovanna Peralta, please follow me."

Giovanna had skin the color of hot cocoa and very pretty dark eyes. She wore robes of parakeet green and although Harry could tell she knew who he was without introduction, she didn't remind him of his embarrassing celebrity status which was a relief to him. She glanced back at him and smiled as he gasped the minute they stepped from the foyer into the main hall of the school which was like no other main hall he had ever seen. He felt as if he were walking out onto the pitch of a giant stadium but instead of seats, each escalating tier housed different levels of trees and plants. The roof was open so that he could see the nighttime sky and and ropey vines with beautiful flowers hung over every open doorway.

Harry could hear birds chirping and flapping their wings and there were waterfalls cascading into a pool that reflected the stars shining down upon them. He watched creatures similar to monkeys glide through the air as they leapt from tree to tree and winged insects fluttered past him, their wings pale and luminescent in the moonlight as they created a symphony of calm that reverberated all around. He'd hardly noticed that he was no longer following Giovanna but instead staring at the beauty that surrounded him. It was as if he'd stumbled out of a fireplace and into some enchanted jungle.

"É bonito não é?" she asked, suddenly standing next to him. Harry was startled right out of his daze and stuttered to reply, making her laugh softly. "I take you to the professor now, she es in her office" she said kindly.

The office she took him to was less like an office and more like a beautifully domed pavilion whose stone steps went down and kissed the edge of the sparkling pool, lit by giant lightning bugs and equally covered in beautiful vined flowers. This place wasn't like anything Harry had ever encountered and he was genuinely glad he had come, even if his actual reason was a long-shot. He figured it couldn't hurt since he had no other leads or hardly any information. All he knew for sure was that he seemed to be dealing with a creature straight out of a fable, unbelievable to wizards and muggles alike.

Considering this, Harry could think of no better person he could ask for help.

Giovanna took her leave and Harry stepped around a trellis to find just the witch he was seeking, sitting under the canopy in a hammock, braiding her long blonde hair. She looked up at him with smiling blue eyes.

"Harry, what a lovely surprise," she said in her airy cadence, causing him to grin broadly.

"Luna, or should I say Professor Lovegood, you have no idea how glad I am to see you."

.

* * *

.

Draco cringed as he realized he'd never fallen asleep after Hermione. He suspected it was because she was the one who waited for him to fall asleep so she could sneak into his bed. The woman was going to drive him mad at this rate. He sighed as he lay under his covers wondering if he could fake it convincingly enough for her to make her way over and drift off to sleep so he could creep away and research what he thought might be responsible for her sudden lapse of a personality.

He waited. And waited. And sure enough, there came the labored pitter patters of feet smaller than his own.

A silent smile touched his lips when she barely made a sound or disturbed the bed whatsoever as she climbed in next to him and it amused him to think he'd always been asleep for these carefully executed maneuvers of hers. He could feel her breath on his neck and was overwhelmed by a full on body flush when she pressed her body up against his back. He felt her shiver as her cooler body claimed the warmth of his own.

Draco felt a sudden sense of unease and it was growing by the second. Tonight seemed a little different than her harmless morning cuddles and his suspicions were confirmed when he felt her fingers sleepwalking up his back and across his waist toward his chest, where they settled momentarily. He was growing so warm under the covers that his enchanted _Cool N' Dry_ pajama top disappeared and suddenly Draco felt Hermione's bare skin at his back, realizing that apart from a pair of diminutive knickers, she was totally naked. He felt the tips of her nipples prodding the sensitive skin of his back and tensed when a hot whisper of air collided with his bare shoulder blades as her fingers danced down his chest and along his abs.

He couldn't force his body not to respond.

Days worth of pent up frustration seemed to pulse from his loins and his pajama bottoms strained against the growth of his rapidly swelling erection. Hermione seemed to immediately sense the change and her gleeful little hand crept closer, much to his traitorous body's delight. She paused, now only a few inches away from the tip that had already begun to peek out of his waistband. Draco didn't know what to do, his mind and body were completely at odds and deep down he knew, this wasn't just biology. Despite his better judgement, he really _did_ want this to happen.

She twitched out a tentative finger to scout along the surface of his emerging tip and the touch made his body crave more contact. There were weak protestations that rose up from the back of his brain and they buzzed about his head like fish flies. _Bugger off,_ Draco thought, _or I'll swat you away with my cock._

That was the moment she grabbed it.

Hermione liked the feel of Draco's swelling member in her hand and even though it was caged inside his pajama bottoms, it throbbed like something alive and separate, with a mind of its own. She began to pump her hand along its length, while her hot mouth spread open along the nape of his throat, sucking and nibbling a path down to his shoulder. It felt amazing. Draco was enjoying himself thoroughly and would have been happy to let her continue if not for an unwelcome face that chose this moment to drift towards the forefront of his mind.

 _Harry bloody Potter._

He could see that stupid scarred face, floating in his mind's eye and cringed when it had the nerve to quote itself, as if from within an echoing chamber.

 _"I need you to keep an eye on Hermione. It hasn't really hit her now, but I know she's going to take this pretty hard..."_

She certainly was. Draco could almost laugh at how much he hated himself at this moment and he had no doubt the feeling would only grow after tonight. Taking in a deep breath, he proceeded to steel himself against her body blocking any further attempts she made to press into him and, gritting his teeth, he grabbed her eager hand, and smashed it against himself, forcing her to stop what she was doing. Then he practically threw her hand over his waist to return it, disgusted with himself that he had let it go as far as it did. He didn't blame Hermione, no, this was entirely his fault. They were both breathing hard and he could tell she was confused and hurt by the sudden cessation. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't do this. _She's a patient,_ he kept telling himself weakly. _This could potentially get me fired._ It took everything in him to say what he said next and even he wasn't convinced he meant it.

"Go back to your bed," he ordered through clenched teeth.

He felt Hermione stiffen next to him and heard the delicate crunch of covers as she turned away from his body to lie on her back. They were both still, listening to one another pant in frustration. He heard the sound of her breathing change as she opened her mouth and his mind filled with dreaded anticipation, waiting for her to break the awkward silence with words or action. He felt her eyes linger upon him and couldn't stand the sudden shyness they now seemed to regard him with, especially since she had been anything but shy a moment ago.

The air was thick with hesitation and unsaid things and Draco despised it.

She must have thought better of it because instead of speaking, she placed her hand gingerly upon his bare shoulder, tracing her thumb along the dip to his collarbones and Draco could feel the space between them narrow as she lowered her head to plant a kiss there. But he stopped her in midair, repeating himself louder and more slowly, as if he were casting a difficult spell and could not afford to be misunderstood.

 _"GO. BACK. TO. YOUR. BED."_

So she did.

.

* * *

.


	24. Chapter 24

.

* * *

.

"Hmmm..." Luna said dreamily. "I'm afraid that's not very much to go on, Harry," she said with her perpetual look of surprise that Harry found he was glad hadn't faded since he'd known her as a teenager.

"I was afraid you might say that but I can't say I'm entirely shocked," he replied glumly.

"Maybe we're going about it the wrong way, though. You told me Malfoy said he believed it to be an ancient creature, right?" Harry nodded. "Well, unbelievable creatures are often found rooted in _fiction_ ," she said plainly. He stared at her nonplussed. "Isn't it obvious? We've got to start with books regarded now as mere myth! Better known as _Lore!_ " she said with a gentle smile.

"Right," Harry said with an air of apprehension. His eyes shifted slowly behind his glasses as he realized he had no idea where to start once again.

"You were raised by Muggles and brought into the Wizarding world when you were eleven, right?"

"Yeah..." Harry said, not quite sure where this conversation was heading.

"Well weren't you surprised when you found out creatures like unicorns, giants, and elves to name a few, existed?"

Harry chuckled as he thought back to those days of constant delight, wonder, and shock. "I certainly was."

"Well, you may be further surprised to know that even witches and wizards have creatures they don't necessarily believe simply because they've never seen them. Come on, I'll take you to our library," she said getting to her feet which Harry noticed were bare.

"Er, Luna...should I take my shoes off?" he asked gazing down at his trainers which felt oddly out of place in all the tranquility.

"If it makes you more comfortable," she shrugged unconcernedly.

Harry had noticed Giovanna was barefoot as well so he unlaced his shoes and placed them in an unobtrusive corner.

"Oh not there, Harry. That area is where the nargles congregate," she said with a straight face.

He froze with his shoes in his hands, not sure what to do and became immediately dismayed when she laughed heartily at his confused face.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're here," she chuckled. "Put those anywhere and come on," she urged as she walked out of the summerhouse.

The paths through the forest were marked with stones that reflected and stored the light of the moon. They stretched out for what seemed to be thousands of feet, like glowing veins reaching far throughout the school. Harry stepped a tentative bare foot out Luna's office and found his footfalls were cushioned by something soft and springy. Luna informed him it was called Corsican Mint which had been brought over from Portugal by Muggles hundreds of years ago and that the stones were actually surface seeds.

"They grow up into these," she said as she snapped off a branch (causing Harry to make a small noise of disapproval) and offering it to him. "It's called a Halo Tendril, they help people who don't know where to begin by illuminating what needs to be started with first."

Harry shifted awkwardly as he examined the glowing and tinkling flowers in his hand, not sure where he should set it down. "Oh, you can have that, it will never wilt or die," Luna said brightly as and he nodded thanks and placed it uncertainly inside his cloak. She guided Harry along a path until they came to a behemoth Fitzroya tree that had to have been thirty feet across and over two hundred feet tall.

"Here we are," she said dreamily as she gazed up the tree's height. Harry looked around them, once again confused. Was the library behind this tree, or perhaps under it? Luna stepped forward and suddenly Harry could see there were words carved in the tree above an archway made of intricately woven, living branches. It read, _Buscamos Conhecimento._ He turned to Luna with a quizzical glance.

"Oh, it's Portuguese. It means, _We Seek Knowledge,_ This library was actually designed by a Muggleborn wizard. He dearly loved books and there are thousands from all over the world, many of them so old we can only turn their pages magically, for fear of tearing them."

"So...the library is _in_ the tree?"

"Of course, Harry. If there's any documentation on the creature you're having trouble with, it should be in here."

Harry stepped forward and Luna opened a door within the bark. On the other side of it he found a spiral staircase, woven from roots and vines that winded up the center of the inside. The entire circumference of the tree from base to top, was lined with books. He marveled at it for several seconds, certain he'd never seen so many in his whole life.

"Hermione'd be in heaven," he breathed, craning his neck back to see to the top which was capped with a dome of enchanted stained glass that reflected the hovering constellations of the stars above.

"Yes, I think she would find it quite lovely," Luna agreed serenely. "Let's make our way to the top, that's where the oldest books are kept."

Harry's gaping wonder soon turned to gaping dread. It was an awfully long journey up.

.

* * *

.

 _"Perinatal loss of an infant has the potential to have a large impact on mothers. There are a significant number of women found to be grieving years after loss. This is especially likely if they fulfil criteria for any of the risk factors described. Pathological grief was found to be particularly high in women after termination of an abnormal pregnancy. The presented studies have also documented the differences in coping styles of women and men, and have highlighted how these can lead to a decline in the quality of a relationship. It is therefore suggested that future intervention approaches should involve male partners, including them in psychotherapy and ensuring an ongoing dialogue between the grieving parents."_

 _Well, that's not going to work,_ thought Draco as he studied the report wryly. He was fairly certain Hermione was experiencing some form of Postpartum Depression. Even if she hadn't wanted the pregnancy, there was no denying she was overwhelmed with grief that a life, no matter how medically viable, had _died_ inside her. Did she feel unduly responsible? Was the guilt was eating her from the inside out? It seemed that talking to him had begun to help her, that is, until Four Eyes McScarry and his faithful sidekick, the Great Ginger Git had showed up. _Damn them,_ Draco thought in frustration as he pushed himself away from his desk.

Honestly, didn't Potter know his friends well enough to foresee something nasty happening between the two of them after what that idiot had done to her? And on top of all that, he'd forgotten her birthday. He thought back to what he saw in the Lensieve, but more importantly, what he _felt_. It was obvious he knew her better than he once had, but now it also seemed plausible he might know her better than her best friend. Couldn't Potter sense how afraid she was? How desperate she felt? He'd been able to decipher the memory completely but Potter hadn't. _Ah, the ineptitude,_ Draco groaned within his head. What's worse is that she seemed to be trying to distract herself with...Draco felt himself blush and a familiar stirring from between his thighs as he recalled her touching him.

There was no doubt about it, she needed help.

There was no way he was going to let Weasel back in here to sit and talk about his feelings with her. Draco's mind persisted over possible solutions, there _had_ to be other treatments available. He went over the articles he'd found. He could medicate and refer her to a psychologist but, he clenched his teeth and clucked disapprovingly, he was pretty certain Hermione wouldn't like either of those. Draco knew from past experience and from witnessing it himself, Granger could be very hardheaded, especially when it came to asking for help. She wasn't irrational though, so if he could present something in such a way that it would appeal to her sensible nature, perhaps it might work.

His eyes skimmed over the titles until something jumped out at him. _Helping Patients to Rediscover Themselves Through Touch Therapy: An Adventure in Healing._ He rolled his eyes at the title but deigned to read past it to see if the findings had yielded positive results. At this point, he'd try anything. The sooner he got her mind well, the sooner she'd leave and he could get back to his nice, quiet, miserable life and maybe it would earn him some credit from the people who were so certain he was still the same spoiled, death eating prat.

Despite his newfound determination, his reading was suddenly interrupted by his door creaking loudly open. He looked up in irritation, but no one was there. It continued to creak and move forward, however, and as he stared mystified at the empty doorway, his eyes dropped down to the floor to see a big ball of ginger fluff.

"What are you doing out of your room? Tricky little blighter," he muttered as he walked over, stooping to pick up Crookshanks, who yowled loudly at him. "You can't just go off and about as you please," he scolded and then sighed. "Come on, let's get you back."

Crookshanks immediately began to wriggle, trying to liberate himself from Draco's arms. "What? You think _I_ want to go back in there, do you?" Draco complained but the cat was agitated and fought all the more. Draco wasn't careful with his hands and grabbed the feisty feline in a way it did not seem to appreciate and it threw its claws out, stabbing into his flesh.

"Gah! _You and your bloody...KNIFE HANDS_!" Draco spat as he flung the cat away from him. He stared at the palm of his hand and watched as three bright slashes of blood bubbled up across it. He was just about to curse the whiskers off his furry attacker when he heard a loud crash coming from Hermione's room. In an instant, he forgot everything that was happening and was running down the hall. He burst through the doorway and found her throwing the small contents of her room at a little brown owl.

"Get out of here! GO ON!" she shouted.

The poor little owl was so confused it just flew to each corner of the room in a panic, trying to avoid being hit. Draco couldn't make sense of the situation so he went over to the bed, trying to hold Hermione's wrists so she couldn't grab anything else. This yielded little success so he was inclined to aim his wand at her.

"Sorry about this, Granger. _Petrificus Totalus!"_ he cast and immediately her body went still and rigid, as if it were made of stone. "Come here now, it's okay," he said to the little owl. Draco noticed the owl had a letter attached to it and as he unfastened it from the owl's claw, his forehead scrunched up in confusion. It was _from_ Hermione, but there was no addressee. He sat on the bed, looking from Hermione to the owl, which hooted indignantly, as if to communicate that it couldn't deliver a letter if it didn't know where it was going, thank you very much. Then it flew off through the window from which it came. Draco shook his head and turned back to the witch sprawled out disgracefully on the bed. Some explanation was needed.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," he countered and Hermione's eyelashes fluttered up at him as she regained mobility. "Care to explain _this_?" Draco asked softly as he held up the letter.

She scowled at him and turned away, curling herself into a tight ball, and hiding her eyes from his. It was the exact posture he had left her in when he'd slipped out of her room to lose himself in research. But she seemed paler and her brow was beaded in a clammy sheen of sweat. The envelope had torn in the skirmish and Draco's keen grey eyes fell upon the bit of parchment he could see peeking out at him. What he read kicked him hard in the gut.

 _I only hope it didn't hurt you  
_ _that the slit in the universe that opened up  
_ _and snatched you into Being  
_ _opened again and put you back gently  
_ _leaving you once again, simply,  
an innocent wisp of undifferentiated nothingness  
_ _plucked from your void of sleep_

She'd written a letter to the dead fetus, in a desperate attempt to purge herself of all the grief that had been welling up inside her, ever since she had admitted she didn't want to have a baby, and the little owl hadn't helped her by taking the letter away so she could pretend it had been delivered. Hermione had chosen to prevent pregnancy because she knew if she ever became pregnant, her choice would never be termination. She didn't ever want to have to make that choice and Ron had forced her to. The pity Draco felt was alien to him and it colored her tender and hurt. She was like a child to him then, a child who had been told a horrible lie who had the misfortune of actually believing it. She believed she was a monster, unworthy of love and unredeemed in the eyes of the person she had felt closest to. Draco understood this feeling all too well and felt he had to help her with the truth.

"Hermione," he said for the first time. "This won't do. You can't blame yourself for this. _I'm_ the one who took the fetus. If I hadn't, as the pregnancy progressed, it would have ended up killing you anyway."

"How I wish it had," she moaned as she brought her hands up around her skull like a vice, kneading at the flesh of her temples.

"Listen to me, Granger. This wasn't a win or lose situation. It was all bad and _all_ unavoidable."

"I don't know what's wrong with me Draco, I keep...my body...that book..." she trailed off unable to finish.

He peeked over her shoulder and tried to see the expression on her face, which was pained and pinched in the middle, as if she were having a waking nightmare but no matter how hard she shut her eyes, she could still see it. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned, watching in amazed horror as the stitched book made from human flesh spread itself opened and flipped its own pages slowly at first, then more rapidly until it stopped and spread open as wide as it could. What he saw depicted on the grafts of skin made him feel ill.

It was an animated illustration of Hermione, strung up like puppet while men circled her and stripped her of her clothing with daggers. Draco looked back to where she lay and saw her face struggling from some unknown pain and finally it clicked that although she wasn't looking at the book, it was somehow showing her this hellish animation within her own mind. The book wanted to finish what it had started back at the Ministry and the men drawn in blood took their knives and cut out a baby, _a full grown baby_ from out of her body and the Hermione drawn in blood grasped at it with failing arms as they dangled it, just out of her reach. Then they began to stab at her with knives and the baby cried, he could actually hear it crying, as they stabbed at her outstretched hands that were still trying to retrieve it.

Draco felt his own hand throb in pain and noticed with a start, that it was still bleeding from the cat scratching him only a moment before. The lights flickered and the beds and furniture in the room began to shake violently, disturbed by some malevolent force. He took one last look at Hermione whose eyes had flung open, the iris' so small they looked practically filled in with white and her breaths came in labored gasps. His eyes flicked from his bleeding hand to the open book and back again. Swallowing hard, he stood up, decisively, advancing toward the book with his bleeding hand outstretched. There was no other solution, it was the book that was tormenting her, he knew this for certain now.

He was able to discern somehow, that Hermione believed everything the book was showing her. That is how powerful this dark magic was. The book however, had somehow interpreted his movements and sought to repel him. He felt like a wrong sided magnet being forced back by another. The book had to stall him so it could finish reducing her mental capability and trap her soul within its pages by killing the depiction of her and making her surrender to the belief that she was dead and deserved to be. Draco refused to let it win, not after all they had been through and shared together. Draco could hear the choir of inhuman voices but he thought he could recognize Ronald Weasley's coming to the forefront of the intonation.

 _"How could you be happy your half blood baby died? You killed your baby. YOU'RE A MONSTER. You deserve to die! Disgusting filth! Bastard birth!"_

Hermione writhed on the bed, he could tell she believed them. He could tell she was destroying herself with the guilt and the voices were egging her on, demanding she despair so that the book could claim and enslave her to it. Well that was just not going to happen. Not while she was entrusted to him. Not while he had strength enough to fight for her this time. She would never be tortured in his presence, _ever again._

Gathering all the strength within him, he pushed forward toward the grimoire and slammed his bloodied hand upon its open page.

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* * *

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"I was very pleased to hear you and Malfoy are becoming friends," Luna said lightly as she and Harry were sifting through the ancient manuscripts and books. Harry paused and considered her words.

"We're not exactly friends but it's a start at least," he replied with a shrug.

"That's always something I've liked about you, Harry. You try to be friends with people, even if you don't understand them."

"I feel I do understand, Malfoy though, Luna," Harry replied sincerely as he picked up another book. "I was raised by people who had horrible beliefs, but the only reason I'm not like them is because they made it clear they didn't like _me_. I can only imagine how I would have turned out if I was loved and accepted by them," Harry said with a shudder.

To this Luna nodded and gave Harry one of her placid smiles, which was topped only by her penetrative blue eyes.

"I'm afraid that kind of understanding is rare. Sounds a lot like friendship to me," she said as he turned back to the book in front of him and she followed his example. Suddenly she gasped, "Look at this Harry!"

He craned his neck to gaze upon a very large and ancient tome, his eyes widening as they took in the illustration on the page. It was one of fire, _in the shape of a woman_. Her eyes were black and the tendrilled flames of her arms stretched out toward a man who appeared to be cowering before her. The illustration depicted a glittering chain stretching from between the man's legs to the creature's hand, like a leash. In a painted cloud, there were representations of money, jewels, the face of someone beautiful. Options by the look of it; things the man wanted very much.

"It seems he's trying to get away but his own desire keeps him enslaved to it," Luna observed at a glance.

"What is it?" Harry asked, frowning. He didn't think it looked very much like the creature he had seen in Hermione's memory. She turned the book towards him so that he could read it properly. There at the bottom of the page, he read the word, _Súcubo._ The picture made him shiver with its implied context.

"A Succubus," Luna said with stoic innocence.

"But those aren't real," Harry said with a knowing smile. "Muggles made those up long ago."

"Read," she urged. "Don't be so quick to think you know what is or what was in this great wide world. You didn't even believe in vampires or ghouls, if you recall..."

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* * *

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Once Draco's blood soaked into the page, the force that held the book in the air, flipping the pages and embellishing them with its horrifying depictions, stopped immediately. The book dropped to the floor with a sickening thud and Draco watched mesmerized as all the pages began to fill in with words he didn't recognize and diagrams which he had no meaning for. He tore his eyes away from it to check on Hermione, who he was relieved to see was breathing normally again.

All the shock and confusion had been draining to the young Mediwizard and his back hit the wall next to Hermione's bed in exhaustion. His feet seemed no longer able to hold him up, so he slid to the ground in a pale heap of bones and blonde. In an instant that small tornado of curls had leapt upon him and was burrowing her head beneath his scruffy chin.

Although the powerful binding spell of the book appeared to have been broken, the connection that enabled them to sense what the other was feeling, hadn't, and he could tell that she was still weighed down with a heavy sadness. Before he had time to feel disappointed, however, she broke the silence.

"I don't hate you," she whispered. "I never really did. If anything, you were one of the reasons I did so well. I wanted to prove to you, and anyone who shared your views, that I was worth a damn." She blushed a little and looked down at her hands. "I guess that sounds stupid."

"No, it doesn't sound stupid."

He wanted to tell her that he knew how she felt but he didn't want her to think that he thought he'd had it worse or that their situations were at all comparable. As an adult, he tended to expect discrimination as part of life, while as a child, before he'd begun to be so dogmatically coached by his father, he'd been far more affected by it. It was so much clearer to him why it was wrong but that clarity had faded with the passing of time. Hermione still had that innocence shining inside of her.

Draco bit his lip, thinking. Innocence didn't seem to be the right word. She was, _good_ and she fought for her goodness. It sounded absurd because it was so simple. She wanted it to touch every aspect of her life and everyone she encountered. Including _him_.

"I can't say it didn't hurt, though" she continued.

"It was supposed to," Draco confessed glumly.

"I felt dirty. Like I was disgusting to you...and last night..." she trailed off.

"Did I...was there something I did to make you feel like that was something that I wanted?" he asked, worried that it was true.

"No...I don't know...all I know is that it was something that _I_ wanted."

He stared at her in disbelief and she moved her face closer towards him, her eyes flashing.

"I _saw_ you with her, I saw it in my dream," she looked down and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, "and it just...it felt like...maybe all this time...it felt like it was finally okay."

 _After all this time?_ He wondered in complete confusion. _What the hell did that mean?_ It's not exactly like he was holding a torch for her ever since Hogwart's and he doubted the same of her, but presently, their mutual attraction was undeniable and in turn, undeniably **WRONG.**

"Well it's not _okay_ , Hermione!" he said raising his voice slightly in exasperation. He put a tentative finger under her chin and lifted her face up to his so that their eyes met. "You are my _patient.._.it's completely inappropriate."

 _"I know!_ I'm sorry!" she cried desperately. "But...Draco...I don't know what's wrong with me. I have this hunger in me. I can hardly control it. I don't know what happened to me. I need your help. Please don't just pretend like it didn't happen. Please don't leave me here to be studied and prodded like a lab rat."

"I wouldn't do that and I can't pretend like it didn't happen, you know I can't. You have bewitched me. If I stay here, _something_ is going to happen, something I know you'll regret."

She perked up at this, as if rising to the challenge. _Bloody Gryffindor._

"Why would I regret it, Draco?" she said softly with a look in her eyes like she wasn't getting enough to eat.

"Because it's _me."_

"You?" she asked quizzically. Her eyes bore deep into his and he could feel the intensity of her gaze rock his insides. Her lips parted temptingly with a searing admission. " _You_ are the reason, the only reason. This...thing...between us...it's real, isn't it?"

He made no reply and couldn't bring himself to voice his doubts or well, his _fears_ that perhaps this "thing" between them was just some insidious aftermath that had ensnared them both. He pulled her closer to him and although she knew he wouldn't leave her now, Hermione felt it necessary to dispel the lingering tension in the room. They had finally been able to talk about all the unsaid things between them but she still couldn't help but cast her sparkling eyes down uncertainly. Seeing his hand gripping hers quickly helped her find her courage and she looked up at him, half-smiling and asked,

"So, did you see any mud while you were digging around inside me?"

Despite the tactless remark, he could tell she was joking, and the corners of his lips couldn't help but twitch into what looked like a smile. He shook his head.

"Not a speck."

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	25. Chapter 25

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* * *

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I am mad because Hermione is wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is more than wrong. _  
_I am mad because Hermione is more than wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is more than wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is more than wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is more than wrong.  
I am mad because Hermione is _Muggleborn._

 _Ugh, finally._ Lucius sighed disgustedly. It had taken much longer than he'd anticipated to plant this final idea into Ron's head. He hadn't been as accepting as Lucius hoped he'd be, and had even defiantly fought against the notion that Hermione's Muggleborn heritage had anything to do with why he should feel angry. But Lucius had gradually been able to assist his concession to the idea with reminders of his childhood poverty and how he was a Pureblood and had picked _her_ and how she'd simply rejected _him_.

She was _ungrateful_. She was _unworthy_.  
She should have been _proud_ to carry my child.  
She was _lucky_ I had _chosen_ her.

After showing Ron this perspective and littering it with those particular buzzwords, his mind became all too accessible and allowed the intruder deeper into its forbidden chambers while something far more disturbing burrowed into the recesses of his heart. If it hurt, Ron simply equated the pain he felt to the pain Hermione had caused him to feel. _It was all her fault._ Everything. She had to pay for what she had done.

 _Hermione should beg on her hands and knees for me to take her back_ , Lucius insisted, and Ron smiled at the thought. He actually found the sight arousing. This discovery made Lucius smile. It was so easy once he found the right motivation. _Birth control. Condoms. Pulling out._ Ridiculous! She should have treated my _Pureblood_ semen like _treasure_ , like a _blessing_ had been bestowed upon her, _within her;_ an unworthy _Muggleborn_ witch. _Selfish little slut._ Ron nodded and Lucius vacated his mind so he could stew on these new revelations, alone and uninterrupted.

 _Let him do with it what he will for now,_ Lucius decided. He was already beyond pleased that Ron had secret, untapped wells of darkness inside his mind, and would make the most of them, eventually.

There was no need to rush.

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* * *

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Draco yawned and turned his attention to the book. His overcast eyes grazed the pages and he sighed with irritation. It hardly made any sense to him. Spells and obvious derivatives (in life and medicine) were really the extent of his Latin. He certainly hadn't learned to speak it fluently in any case. He revolved the book within his slender fingers to have a more thorough look at the circular diagrams. They seemed reminiscent of star charts but some of them looked a bit more disturbing. Almost like multiple body placement for some kind of a ritual? Draco shuddered. He didn't even want to get started with the illustrations.

He walked over to the trunk where he kept the books and contents he had retrieved from the Appropriations locker, rummaging carefully until he found one of the vials with congealed black goo stuck to the bottom of it. _What would happen if he put it on the book?_ He'd put his own blood on it and it had readily accepted it as some kind of password, probably because he was Lucius' son, he figured. Somehow it had known Hermione was a Muggle. Draco had a sneaky suspicion that perhaps Hermione had told it; that it had got into her mind by way of the blood she willingly offered to it. _Why had she done it?_ It was clear this book was some kind of an ancient instruction manual of _How To's_ but Draco was not entirely certain to _what_. If he knew his father, it could only be one thing: to further the credo of Pureblood propagation and domination.

What was taking Hermione so long? She said she wanted to brush her teeth but, Draco looked at the clock, she'd been in there nearly forty minutes. Guess that was the burden of having dentists' for parents. Proper oral care must be considered a virtue of the highest importance. He chuckled to himself, imagining Hermione being told she wouldn't be able to study unless she'd flossed and brushed every tooth to a bright, shiny white. Then a more sinister feeling crept over him. Perhaps she was taking so long because she had... _no_...she wouldn't, _would she?_ Her mind had been so disturbed she had sought comfort from him! There was no telling how desperate she was if that was the case. He quickened his pace before he brushed aside all reasonable doubt and ran for the bathroom, feeling foolish for having let her go alone. Forty minutes to brush her teeth! How idiotic of him to even make a joke of it.

If anything happened to her on his watch, he would never forgive himself...and neither would anyone else.

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* * *

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Hermione sighed, letting all the air out of her body as she sank into the tub and submerged herself under the water. She felt positively beat after the last few days of being a punching bag for that possessed book and she just wanted to wash every trace of its grisly evil off her skin. Perhaps she had made the bathwater too hot but it felt refreshingly good on her previously cold and clammy flesh.

She watched her hair rise above her face like tendrils of seaweed and her thoughts wandered aimlessly. Mostly she thought about the events that had transpired earlier that night. She had touched Draco Malfoy. Between his legs! _And she had wanted to._ She couldn't explain the growing attraction she had towards him and didn't even question it because it felt so... _natural_.

Like it had always been there.

Memories of her last time underwater in a bath bombarded her mind. She thought of the newspaper with Draco's picture and how she had wanted to scream. So much had changed since then. Her hands wandered down her body and she ran a timid finger over her healing stitches. It was strange to think she had been marked once more but she knew this scar would be far more painful to look at simply because the memory would be tainted with betrayal.

Hopefully, Draco would be able to fade it like he had said he would. She imagined him touching her as he applied _Essence of Dittany_ and felt her whole body blush. She thought of him, of how being with him _in that way_ would be. His pale skin against her amber and honey toned flesh, his slender fingers following her many dips and curves. His thin lips parting against her fuller ones, their tongues dancing in that delicious choreography. His scent, which she found at once clean and comforting.

Her hand dipped lower under the water searching for her secret button of pleasure as she thought all this. But she stopped suddenly. He was probably wondering where she was so she decided she would head back to her room, not wanting him to seek her out and find her in such a state of arousal. It would be even more embarrassing than being sent back to her bed like a naughty child. But she stood up a little too suddenly out of the bath and immediately felt dizzy from the heat as she stepped out of the tub and her legs wobbled, throwing her slightly off balance.

Just as she was reaching for her towel, the door burst open and she was knocked off her feet. But before she hit the ground, someone reached out and grabbed her. The contrasting forces of being pulled while simultaneously falling, paired with the slippery tile, threw both of them off balance, and once more she felt the irresistible force of gravity beckoning her to the floor. But instead of landing roughly on it like her mind had predicted and prepared her body for, something softer broke her fall. Her eyes flew open on impact and were suddenly staring down into wide pools of quicksilver.

Draco hadn't expected the barrage of steam when he rushed through the door and before he knew it, he was cradling Hermione firmly in his arms and using his own body to shield her from smacking hard against the pale green tiles. He soon realized his hands couldn't get a firm grasp on her, however, due to the fact that her body was slick from bathwater and much to his dismay, completely _naked_. He was instantly reminded how her body had been pressed up against his, mere hours ago, and how the feel of her flesh on his own had felt so dangerously inviting and forbidden at the same time.

Now here she was, squirming on top of him, her skin flushed and warm from the hot water and he had to viciously fight the equally vicious urge he had to stare unabashedly at her natural form and roam his hands all over her gently sloping curves. His hands tingled as they ran helplessly down her sides, unable to secure themselves anywhere on the soft, slippery surface, until they finally slid down the dip of her waist and rested snugly, on her hips.

The moment his hands tightened their grip on her hips, it produced a reaction from her that caused her to buck them against his own and he felt his eyes dilate as she let out an audible sigh. Her hot breath hit Draco's ear and his brain immediately drew from its primal well, the feel of her smooth, naked flesh, the sound of her dulcet little sigh, the sight of her creamy, blushing skin with her heaving breasts pushed up against him, and the fact that their hips were aligned perfectly so that they could both feel, and were instantly aware of how their bodies might fit together,

 _where she concaved and he protruded._

The primal logic analyzed all these things, processed them in the blink of an eye, and arrived at only one course of action and almost as if by magic summons, both Draco and Hermione felt his protrusion begin to swell beneath her hollow. He watched transfixed as her eyebrows knitted together and her lips parted tenderly, trying to communicate the unbearable longing she felt. It shook Draco to his innermost core. He couldn't understand how or why she felt that way, maybe he never would. All he knew was that she wanted something from him, something he didn't feel he could give while staying on the right side of conventional ethics. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared into her eyes and her whole body seemed to tremble on top of his own, waiting for permission.

"Oh, sod it," he uttered and within an instant, his lips crashed against hers and his hands were grinding her hips down upon himself. She braced herself by placing her hands on either side of his head and as she arched her back, and her breasts bowed forward to meet his lips, which brushed against them gently. His hands glided up her back, then over her ribs until they cupped around them, causing her to gasp at the sensation as his thumbs circled her cuspate nipples. Her hands then found themselves on either side of his face and she bent her head to kiss him again, slower, so she could savor the taste of his mouth.

His pelvis rocked against hers, creating such a delicious friction between them that she began to pant into his mouth and he kissed her madly, hungrily, like someone starved. She bent her knees and planted one on either side of his body to steady herself as her hands cradled the back of his head, coaxing his face up and against her heaving breasts and he raised a tentative glance to her face before navigating the tip of one into his eager mouth, his hot tongue lapping at the sensitive flesh and making her whole body shiver.

He took his hand and ran his fingers down her arm, lightly caressing her wrist until his thumb brushed the inside of her palm and his fingers laced around the outside, stroking the veins on the back of her hand tenderly before he guided it down his chest and over the muscles of his core until he was able to smash it directly onto his throbbing center. But this time, he didn't do it to make her stop. This time he did it because he wanted, no, he _needed_ her to feel what she had done to him. What she had been doing to him for several days now.

Maybe even years, if he was being honest.

Her hand seemed to tremble before she took urgent hold of it and suddenly, much to his annoyance, Draco was reminded of Mr. Ringwald and how he had smashed his own wife's hand onto his monstrously swollen erection, and it was like a lightbulb had clicked on in his mind. The realization was so astounding that his body halted all other actions it was partaking in and he laid back, dumbfounded.

 _How could he have missed it?_ _He_ hadn't killed Mr. Ringwald! _His wife had!_

 _"Sweet Salazar,"_ he whispered.

"Did you?" Hermione asked doubtfully, trying to mask the horrified disappointment she felt.

" _Wait, WHAT?_ NO!" Draco answered distractedly, trying to hold on to his new hypothesis and finding it incredibly difficult with this naked siren wriggling on top of him.

He felt Hermione's body stiffen as she regarded him with questioning eyes. _Surely he wasn't about to make her stop again?_ He could almost feel the question buzzing around in her head. She shifted her weight uncomfortably and before he could say anything, she felt something stab into her thigh.

"What _is_ that?" she asked suddenly.

Draco's eyes glanced down to where hers indicated and he let out a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a snort.

"Well it's not a banana I've brought for your breakfast, Granger," he said shaking his head as he unpinned himself from underneath her and handed her a towel. The sight of the furious blush that overtook her face made him want to pin her against the wall and feel her shiver _underneath_ him this time, just to see what other colors he could make her glow, but instead he simply allowed her to smack him on his chest for the cheeky remark.

"Not _that!"_ she whispered, wide-eyed and flustered. As he smirked at her, her eyes narrowed and she brazenly slid her hand into his pocket, startling him, much to her satisfaction. She dug around for a moment before finding what she sought and she fished out the vial of black goo, retrieving it from his pocket as if she were pulling a rabbit from a hat. "This," she presented, holding it up for him.

"Honestly, I'm not entirely quite sure," he confessed. "I thought it might be blood or ink so I was going to try and put it on the book, just to see what happens."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together thoughtfully as she wrapped the towel around her body and examining the oozy contents of the vial.

"It doesn't look like blood or ink...you know, it reminds me of..." she trailed off an unfinished sentence and Draco gaped at her, waiting impatiently for an explanation.

"Reminds you of what?" Draco urged.

"Of...a _memory,_ " said Hermione slowly.

"What memory?" he asked, making a face. Hermione could see he did not understand what she was trying to say and sighed as she thought of how to articulate it.

"Not a _specific_ memory, but when a memory is taken and put in a _vial._ Only this one appears to be tainted-"

"With _Dark Magic!_ Hermione, you're a genius!" Draco finished with a comprehending smile.

He felt so relieved to have gained a new lead to follow through on in addition to his sudden revelation and in his excitement, he grabbed Hermione by her shoulders, perhaps a little more roughly than intended, and kissed her smack on the lips before leaving her in the bathroom with her head spinning.

 _._

* * *

.

Draco put in an immediate request for a Pensieve to be brought in and was happy to see that Hermione's voracity for books had returned with the kind of ferocity reminiscent of the Hogwart's library. That is, once he explained to her that the grimoire would no longer be attacking her.

"All my father's Dark Magic books will no doubt have some kind of protection, I'm sure, but since I am his _progeny_ ," he rolled his eyes as he said the word, "they _should_ let me into their contents without much of a fight." He ran his fingers through the bulk of his hair before turning toward her with a false smile. "This one simply required my blood," he observed cheerfully.

"Simply," Hermione repeated incredulously, cocking a brow at him. "Right."

Draco shrugged. "I'll do what I have to in order to save them."

Hermione leveled her eyes with his and smiled. "As will I."

"Oh no you don't, Granger. You're good where you are. I don't mind your help with the books, seeing as how you took it upon yourself to become a decent translator of Latin. But that's it. Everything else you need to let me handle."

Hermione pouted her perfectly pink lips and furrowed her brow to show her disagreement.

"Well, what about Harry? Shouldn't we tell me him about-"

"No."

He said this firmly to communicate there would be no further discussion on the matter but he could tell Hermione had no intention of dropping the issue that easily. For now, she was content to pore over the books he had, but he knew once she'd sufficiently healed there would be nothing he could do to stop her from getting down to the bottom of this. With or without him.

Draco sighed. She would need further convincing then.

"The man who took you, his name is Pierce Harchird. He's working with my father or being used by him or something, I'm not absolutely certain. All I know is that he threatened to kill all those sick aurors if I breathed a word of what I knew to Minister Shacklebolt and I don't want to take any chances that he can make good on his threats. Especially since I know all too well what my father is capable of. If I can figure out how to cure their affliction, I'll be ahead of the plot and they won't have anything to use as leverage against me. Then Potter will be free to track them down and take them into custody. I just need time to try to figure out as much by myself as possible. So if there's any chance of anyone being in danger, it's just me. My father might be into the Dark Arts but I doubt he would hurt his own "pureblood" son," he finished with another eyeroll and air quotes.

Hermione gave him a long, searching look before nodding and returning her attention to the book and Draco watched her intently, hoping if she found anything useful she'd speak up and let him know. But soon, he noticed her eyes stopped skimming across the pages and he became impatient when they lifted just a fraction of an inch off the page and her jaw set into an uncomfortable grimace.

"You know, if you're going to stare at me while I try and translate all this in my head, you might brief me on what exactly I'm looking for?" she suggested in a snarky voice.

Draco regarded her coolly and she looked up to meet his placid gaze.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Oh, very well, Granger. Does it say anything in regards to, I don't know, _dangerously increased sexual desire_?" The devil in him snickered, enjoying much too much the sight of her creeping blush.

"What do you mean, _dangerously increased_?" she asked in visible dismay.

Draco thought back to the aurors and then about Mr. Ringwald specifically. His wife had come to visit him everyday. No one else's had. Mrs. Ringwald had held his hand and spoke to him for at least an hour each day, and Draco was certain Ringwald had met the creature, that all the aurors had encountered it down in the bowels of Malfoy Manor.

But instead of being able to show them what they desired and then reap the benefits of their arousal, the illusion had been interrupted, the creature had been intercepted, and ashes, ashes, _they all fell down!_ Every single one of those men went stark raving mad with _unfulfilled desire_ and Ringwald's wife had only exacerbated the matter by appealing to his base senses. His body had already been sustained at its breaking point and hearing her, _feeling_ her touching him, it had only served to prolong his agony. He was not able to vanquish his demon of desire with, _le petit mort,_ as the French say, and it had bloody well cost him his life.

Hermione sighed, as she watched Draco become lost in his own thoughts realizing he would not be explaining further, and she glanced back down at the book, picking up where she had left off. She made a face and her eyes darted back up to his.

"I don't know about _increased sexual desire_ but, it says here, that if the chosen participant does not get release _he will die a most horrible death."_

"Well," said Draco dryly remembering Mr. Ringwald's horrified scream as his member burst like a bomb. " _That's_ a bit of an understatement."

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	26. Chapter 26

A/N Okay, so please believe me when I tell you that this chapter was the hardest for me to write. I realized it probably needed to come with a **Trigger Warning** as it contains graphic description of sexual abuse. I will mark the beginning and end of the passage with a ***** so that if you would like to skip that part, you may do so. Please remember this story came with a warning in the summary that it would be Dark but rest assured, I do not intend to write anymore scenes like this in future chapters and hope you understand why I did so with this one.

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* * *

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Draco peered around his surroundings. He had witnessed a Pensieve memory before, but there had always been a feeling of separateness and untouchability within one. It was definitely not the same in a Dark Magic tainted memory, he observed. The second he'd materialized within it, he felt an acute air of hostility directed at his presence. It was almost as if _something_ knew that there was an intruder and this immediate fear he would soon be discovered overtook him.

He could see he was at the top of a stone stairway that had a gradual spiral to it as it disappeared and descended into an open maw of black. Down ahead, he saw a waning light moving around the bend, _perhaps from a candle?_ and decided to follow it. Draco's gut told him to keep a cautionary distance but doing so caused the light to vanish and soon he was enveloped in darkness. He swallowed a deep breath, placing tentative steps out in front of him so as not to lose his balance. It was incredibly strange to be in a memory without anyone guiding it for him and all at once, he felt the panicked sensation of being completely lost juxtaposed with the confidence that he could go unimpaired, wherever he wanted.

 _He need only let his feet guide him._

As tempting as it was to go rogue, he knew his intuition was correct as it urged him to keep following and as he came to the bottom step, Draco held his breath and listened. The air was damp and occasional sounds of dripping would echo throughout the corridor, but he fine tuned his hearing and was certain that up ahead he could hear something else; the soft patter of clandestine footsteps. He resumed trailing after whoever had been ahead of him, and as he rounded a corner he saw once again the faint glow of candlelight. But it was guttered out just as suddenly as he had seen it and he heard the soft thud of the wax candle pillar falling and breaking upon the hard stone floor.

This was all beginning to feel eerily familiar and as Draco stared futilely up ahead, a ghostly pale shape emerged from the opaque black surrounding him. His eyes had thankfully begun to adjust and he could hardly believe what he was seeing. In seconds, the small figure became more defined and soon Draco found himself staring at the form of a child dressed in a white nightshirt, with their arms stretched out in front of them as they ran toward him. When the child was a little closer, Draco could make out the terrified expression on his face. On _his_ face. Almost in slow motion, Draco felt his jaw dropping as he recognized the identity of the child running toward him. He had the same face as _the child inside his mother's locket_ and although the expression was different, there was no doubt about it.

It was him! _He was the child._

As his child self got closer and closer all Draco could do was stare, his feet frozen to the spot. He cringed the second before they made contact, fearing being discovered, but instead of a collision, Draco felt the strange sensation of being blatantly immaterial as young Draco ran right through him, like he were simply made of mist, and he watched helplessly as the child continued unhindered, past him. Louder footfalls sounded from up ahead, obviously in pursuit. A cloaked figure wearing a mask came from the shadows and pointed a wand out into the corridor. _This was the moment,_ Draco recalled, as he turned toward the man. _Fiddle us, Ol' Billy ate_ , he would cry. Draco instinctively tried to shield his younger self but his spectral form was useless inside the memory.

 _"Fidelius! Obliviate!"_

The mask fell to the floor with a _clang!_ that reverberated off the walls inside the tight corridors and Draco watched as Lucius went up the stairs after his young son. There were no restrictions in this memory, however, and he was not bound to keep close to the memory's owner. Draco did not wish to follow Lucius up the stairs, he'd been allowed to keep that memory and already knew what had happened. Instead he turned his head back up the hallway and his ears pricked up as he heard another sound above the random drips in the cellar. It was soft and choked, like a gurgled sigh. He crept further down the passageway until he came upon a door.

It was just as he had dreamed it. The very same door to the very same room.

Draco knew if he could just open the door, what he would see. He would see the strange hooded figure and finally have a better idea of what had happened so long ago, what had scared him so badly that he just forgot. _But,_ thought Draco, as realization washed over him, _he hadn't really forgotten._ He'd been Obliviated. His father had made him a Secret Keeper and then made him forget of what.

Whatever _it_ was, it was behind this closed door. The door he couldn't open because he was a bloody memory wraith. Frustrated, he kicked his foot out at the door with so much force that he almost fell on his ass when it failed to make any sort of satisfying contact. But before he could further curse his rotten, intangible luck, he heard someone coming back down the passage. It was Lucius, the gambler himself. As he came closer, Draco could see his father was shaking but he couldn't decipher with what. Rage? Fear? Sadness? Laughter? There was no way of telling. Lucius picked up his fallen mask and kept walking toward him, with purpose. His silver eyes seemed to flash maliciously in the darkness. It was almost as if he could sense he was not alone.

 _"Draco."_

Lucius turned his head in his direction and Draco gasped-it was as if his keen gray eyes were piercing right into his own. But he couldn't see him, this was a memory after all, right? The younger wizard felt oddly exposed and before he could brush it off as Lucius just saying his name in frustration, his father began speaking not to himself, but to _him_.

 _"I will leave you this memory and I hope you understand what I did was necessary to keep you safe. Had I allowed you to keep that memory, you would have been destroyed. Now that I have made you Secret Keeper, you are too valuable to be destroyed. I hope soon you will see that everything I do is for the prosperity of our Pureblood family. We must make the arduous climb back to the top; back to our rightful place, my son. Through any means necessary. The Muggles are growing far too numerous. They consume and poison the Earth, why? Because they cannot use magic. It is just a matter of time before they gather in their many numbers to steal it from us. What kind of future is that for you?"_

"LUCIUS? Who are you talking to out there?" came a dull voice through the door. Draco was stunned as he realized with vague recollection who the voice belonged to: Theodore Nott's father.

 _"Just myself, Herod,"_ Lucius replied calmly to his inquisitor as he stepped forward, grasping the handle of the door and pushing it open. Draco turned, lifting his eyes to look in on the scene unfolding inside. His gaze zeroed in on Theodore's father, then what he held in his hands. He could hardly believe his eyes as he felt a dull tingle at the back of his throat and saliva involuntarily flooded his mouth, preparing a smooth path for the nausea that was soon to follow. He threw himself backwards and felt as if he were being hauled out from a great body of water and flung violently onto the shore. But as his surroundings changed suddenly and he gathered his wits, he realized he was simply back in Hermione's hospital room at St. Mungo's.

She was staring at him from her bed utterly perplexed but Draco could offer her no explanation, he simply turned his head to purge his insides. What a shame he could not purge his mind as well, he thought dully. Lucius had been correct in shielding such a sight from a five year old, absolutely.

"Draco! What on earth? Are you alright? What happened? What did you see!?" Hermione demanded, indicating with her movements she was about to rush over to his side.

"Don't get up," said Draco between bouts of nausea. "Stay where you ah-" but it was no use trying to talk, he was sick again. She seemed to understand and did not try to get up, but once his fit had calmed, she asked again.

"Well? What did you see?"

Draco's eyes were wild and frightened as he gripped the ledge of the Pensieve basin. She watched anxiously as he opened his mouth, shook his head, and slammed his eyes shut, turning away from her, unable to say anything. He didn't want to remember but now that his father allowed him to see his memory, Draco's own memory came rushing back to him with biting clarity.

"Draco, for goodness sake! Tell me!" Hermione cried concernedly as she stared helplessly at his back.

 _"Ch-children,"_ he stuttered out.

When she gaped at him with incomprehension his face seemed to cave in on itself and he spun around to face her, roaring,

 _"THEY USED CHILDREN!"_

Her face sank as the implications of what he said settled into her mind. He expected her to blanch, to cower. He certainly thought she would cry or whimper with this revelation, at the very least, but Hermione did no such thing. Her face became an unreadable mask of stone and she shut the book in her lap closed. He'd almost grown accustomed to her constantly surprising the hell out of him but he had barely steadied himself before she unnervingly pulled the proverbial rug out from underneath him once again.

"Draco, bring the Pensieve over here so I can see _,_ " she commanded unflinchingly.

.

* * *

.

Harry had enjoyed his time at Castelobruxo immensely but after Luna invited him into the forest to meet the Caipora, he figured it was about time to go. He was quite certain anything that anyone had described as worse than Peeves the Poltergeist was definitely not something he was keen on getting to know better. Luna walked him to the fireplace they had International Floo clearance for and handed him a few parting gifts as well as a few words of wisdom.

"Be sure to tell her if a succubus _is_ involved..." Harry sighed and shook his head at her mention of this but she persisted nevertheless, "...there may be risks of binding and there will _definitely_ be evidence of blood magic," Luna warned.

"Luna, Hermione isn't on the case. I am," Harry replied wearily as he pinched the bridge of his nose where the pads of his eyeglasses rested. She gave him a knowing look which caused him to drop his eyes to the book in his hand. "You sure you want me to take this with me?" he asked. He hadn't seen Luna for several years and he didn't want to sour the last day of their reunion by getting her in trouble with the school's headmaster.

"Of course, Harry. It's enchanted to withstand damage but even so, I trust Hermione to take great care with it. Besides, I know she'll return it once she's finished," Luna said with an airy smile.

"Right," Harry confirmed, grinning wryly. "I suppose I should know better than try to keep her out of this," he said once more shaking his head.

"She should be healed up by now, right?" Luna asked.

"Malfoy...er...operated on her. The Muggle way," he explained concisely when she stared blankly at him.

"Oh, so...it will take longer for her to heal then, right? It must be quite dull just sitting in a bed waiting for your body to heal itself," Luna mused. "But you made sure she had lots of activities and books before you left, I'm sure."

Harry shifted uncomfortably on his feet as a look of guilt washed over his face.

"Er...not exactly. She has Crookshanks and I'm sure Malfoy is taking good care of her. He gave me his word."

Luna's eyebrows lifted a fraction and the corners of her lips twitched into a dotty smile. "I suppose that's just as well. If she was attacked by a succubus, she'll not have much interest in books, I daresay."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, well I'm not sure I should tell you, Harry." She stared off into the space behind him and tilted her head. "It does put me in a rather awkward position and after all, you two are just starting to become friends." Harry stared at her as she debated with herself, mumbling, "He's grown very handsome, from what I've seen in the papers and opposites _do_ attract. Not to say that Hermione isn't quite attractive herself, but..." she bit her lip in thought, "No, I don't think I should say anything." She shook her head with vague decisiveness before looking into his eyes once more and shrugging. "If you're really curious it explains it all quite clearly in the book, of course. Hang on and let me get a few more for Hermione. I mean, _you_ ," she said with a perceptive gleam in her eye.

"O...Okay," Harry said in a slightly worried tone as he watched her leave to retrieve some other books.

Luna came back shortly with three more books. Harry made a face as he noticed one had to do with _Blood Magic_.

"This last one I'm afraid I will have to drop your name so as not to look suspicious. The Headmaster won't raise any questions as long as it's you, I'm sure." Harry nodded in compliance and she hugged him tightly, giving him one last, long look. "Don't be too cross with him, Harry. Remember they've both lost their own families, too," she said with a sad smile as she gazed into him with her wide blue eyes.

Harry didn't quite understand what she was talking about, but then again, Luna always seemed to have that effect on him. He gave her a fond look before throwing down his Floo powder and disappearing in a flurry of green flames.

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* * *

.

Draco was completely dazed but he did as Hermione bade him and brought the Pensieve over to her bed. The moment she tried to stick her head in, however, the black surface of the basin became film-like and she could not submerge herself to view the memory no matter how hard she pushed her face in. It was as if the Pensieve were covered with a plastic tarp, barring her from admission.

"It must be part of the Dark Magic. Your father made it so only you could view this and anyone else who tried would be rejected. I've...I've never even heard of magic like this," she confessed with a pained look.

Draco nodded but said nothing. He was thinking of a workaround. Perhaps there was a spell in the book? But the solution proved to be much simpler.

"I could...I could give you my own memory," he offered quietly.

Hermione gasped and the look of sympathy on her face made Draco feel embarrassed.

"You were there? _He let you see?_ "

"I wasn't supposed to go down there," he replied with a shrug. "I thought maybe there was something worth bragging about to the other children I was encouraged to become acquainted with." Hermione frowned at his wording. Being acquainted sounded so cold and formal. She soon understood a little more why he acted the way he had when _they_ were acquainted. "I was actually encouraged to brag to them and those who were most impressed became my um... _friends_ ," he said the word awkwardly, as if he knew it wasn't quite right. He turned toward Hermione and gave her an appraising glance. "Are you sure you want to see this?" She nodded. "Alright. Bear in mind I was five when this happened," he reminded.

"Understood," Hermione said waving her hands as if his age were of no consequence. Her curiosity was eating her alive and she felt relieved he was actually going to _willingly_ share an intimate part of his life with her.

"There is a catch, though, Granger," he said smoothly. Hermione gave a half smile. _Of course there was,_ she thought. She expected no less from a Slytherin.

"You have to let me see your memory," he bargained. She furrowed her brow.

" _My_ memory? Which?"

"The one, when you watched me and the creature," he said slowly. Hermione didn't think it would work in quite the same way, the activity was imparted to her in a dream, after all but as she opened her mouth to voice her doubt, he interrupted her. "We probably won't be able to do it with a Pensieve and you will have to allow me into your mind." Hermione's blush overtook her once again and Draco cocked an eyebrow at her to entreat her answer. She looked down at her lap and nodded her agreement.

Turning away from her, he used his wand to remove his father's memory and the Pensieve looked as if it were being leeched of some foul pollution. The basin once more glittered a sparkling, luminescent white and Draco kissed the top of his head with his wand tip, extracting a wispy strand of silver fog. Hermione watched as he placed the strand into the Pensieve and it swirled around. She lowered her head and the surface allowed her passage, soon she was drifting through the inky swirl of Draco's past.

Hermione blinked a few times, not entirely certain of her surroundings but the pit pat of soft footfalls caused her to turn around and she saw a small form above her, carrying a candle. Her jaw dropped and her eyes softened at the sight. Draco had truly been a beautiful child. Fair and rosy tinted with white blond curls that reached just below his chin. _Like a doll._ His light grey eyes seemed to sparkle with innocence and as his feet carried him to the same step as her, she fought the sudden impulse to reach for his hand. This was the child she had seen when she had been looking through the eyes of the creature. This was the child the creature had sought to destroy. She was resolved to protect him at all costs but a sudden stab of impending dread reminded her why she was there.

She cringed as she realized she must bear silent witness once more, as a part of him was destroyed.

They made their way silently down the corridor and the five year old Draco stopped to listen. Hermione could hear it, too. It sounded so out of place in the damp chamber and more fitting for the girl's lavatory, she thought, recalling how she had listened to Moaning Myrtle force her finger down her throat to throw up in her toilet countless times. It was why she spent so much time in the bathroom when she'd been alive, after all. Hermione couldn't think of anyone who would think a bathroom would be a good place for a bulimic to spend their afterlife, but for Moaning Myrtle, it had been her sanctuary. No one made fun of her there. No one cared about her blood status or pigtails or glasses or how much she weighed. Hermione felt a sad twinge of empathy as she remembered the ghost but decided the wet choke she heard wasn't quite the same.

 *****  
The horrible glucking sound got louder and soon they were standing in front of a partially open doorway. Her surroundings suddenly became clearer, as if it were a very fresh memory and she saw before her what appeared to be a hooded man holding something out in front of his waist. He was squatting down and thrusting his hips forward as he pushed and pulled it toward him. But what was he holding in his hands? Hermione stepped forward involuntarily trying to shield Draco's vision from taking in the scene completely but she was a discarnate figure and this had already happened. She could protect him no more than she could protect herself.

Her stomach dropped as she let out a horrified gasp. The more air that left her lungs, the more numb her face felt and the sensation spread and tingled all the way up to the roots of hair on her scalp. Her entire body was gripped in cold terror and her eyes spread wide, becoming painfully dry, unable to blink; unable to tear themselves away from what she was seeing. The man held in his fat, meaty hands the face of a child. A little girl who couldn't have been more than eight or nine. Her eyes were shut so tight as he pumped himself in and out, and in and out with such force it was a wonder the corners of her lips did not tear.  
 *****

Hermione clapped her hands over own mouth to keep from being sick on the floor and as her eyes wandered around the dim room in a futile attempt to look anywhere else, she could see more candles illuminating the small space and their light reflected off other eyes that were almost hidden behind iron bars. As she stared, their flame licked outlines became clearer and she was able to finally verify what she was looking at. Women and children.

 _Muggles._

They whimpered fearfully but did not cry out and Hermione wondered if it was because they were afraid of what happened if one did so. Had that little girl demanded to be set free? Had she screamed and this was her punishment? But before Hermione could wonder further, there was a rustle of fabric behind her and she looked back just as the door was starting to close in her face. The young Draco dropped his candle as he turned to look at the figure that had suddenly appeared beside him.

 _"Fidelius! Obliviate!"_

Draco took off, sprinting in terror and Hermione fought the urge to call out to him, watching helplessly as the innocence sparkling in his eyes fled down his face in the form of tears, never again to return.

.

* * *

.

She emerged from the Pensieve shaking and would have fallen to the floor had Draco not been there to catch her in his arms.

 _"How...HOW COULD THEY DO THAT TO CHILDREN!?"_ she choked out.

Her breath came out in heaved sobs as she fell against his chest. She thought of his child self, how could one so young have interpreted such a sight? It would have been psyche shattering. She pulled herself up and gazed into his eyes which looked dry and hollow. Draco could not bring himself to look at her and as her eyes traced his features, she realized he was still shaking. She pulled him against her chest and was relieved when he did not resist.

They lay like that in her bed for hours. She stroked his hair and felt his warm breaths collect in a pile on her chest.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, Draco," she said quietly.

"My father wiped the memory from my mind after making me Secret Keeper and although I never remembered, I would sometimes dream about it. After that, even though I didn't remember I could _feel_ something was wrong. I never felt like a child again. I felt... _angry_ all the time and I never knew why. My parents always tried making us project this image of the perfect Pureblood wizarding family but deep down, I knew it was all a charade. Now I know why," he sighed.

"Now I know we have to stop your father," Hermione said resolutely.

Draco was horrified. After witnessing the vile evil Lucius permitted to happen in his own home, she wanted to go out and find him?

"No. No way," he said as he lifted his head and looked up at her. "I don't want anything to do with this anymore. I'm turning this over to the Auror Department first thing tomorrow.

"Oh and a lot of help they'll be with nine down," she scoffed. "We have to help them, Draco."

"We? I can help them. I want you to stay here. You're still recuperating, Granger."

"I can help and stay here. We don't even know where to start yet. All we have is this horrible book that I have to translate," she reasoned.

"Well," he felt himself beginning to cave. "What do you have so far?"

She sighed glumly. "I'm afraid none of it is very helpful and all of it is very horrible. It actually raises more questions than it answers-for me, anyway," she added quickly. She handed him a long roll of parchment which he spread out between his hands to read.

 _capnomancy - divination by smoke_  
 _antinopomancy- divination by the entrails of women and children_  
 _catoxtromancy - divination by looking glass_  
 _gastromancy - divination by signs written on the belly_  
 _lecanomancy- divination by basin of water_  
 _spatalamancy - divination by bones, excrement, skin_  
 _tuphramancy - divination by ashes_  
 _coscinomancy - divination by sieves_

"What the hell is this, Granger?" he demanded as he read over the words and their definitions with perplexed alarm.

"It came from the book. I've never even heard of half of that stuff," she admitted with a grimace. "There's loads about binding oneself with a _Fiend Fay_ , too. But I'm not quite sure what that is. I've never heard of it."

Draco snorted in disbelief. " _What!? Fiend Fay_ are like, wizarding fantasy creatures. I think Muggles called them ink-yous..ink-cubes? And suck-you...suck cubes?" he shrugged, discouraged when she did not immediately recognize what he was talking about.

"Ink-cubes? Suck-cubes?" she repeated bewilderedly. "Do you mean _Succubus_ and _Incubus_?" she asked lifting her eyebrows.

"Hell if I know, Granger. Those things aren't real."

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "How do you know?"

" _Everyone_ knows," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 _"How?"_ she persisted.

"Because," he said impatiently, running his fingers through his hair. "Wizards just made them up to explain the creation of Magic. They're the equivalent of your Adam and Eve," he said dismissively. She gave him an odd look and thought she must ask him where he'd heard of _them_ some other time. The story would no doubt be amusing.

"Muggles used incubi and succubi to explain away pregnancies out of wedlock and justify rape and adultery, among other things," she remembered aloud.

He offered her a wan smile. "Not so different, after all."

"But remember what your father said about the woman on fire? He said she was the beginning..." Hermione trailed off as she saw Draco's eyes widen with remembrance.

"Alright Granger, it's your turn," he said nodding indicatively at her.

She laid back, propped up against her pillows. "Alright. I'm ready."

" _Legilimens,_ " he whispered as he pointed his wand at her.

She resisted only at first, since the sensation of another consciousness inside her own felt like such an intrusion but after a second or two, she got used to the feeling and he waited for her to pull the memory to the forefront of her mind. She had not been able to remember her encounter until she had read from the book and it had only taken her reminding Draco for him to recall his own meeting with the creature. But remembering a dream, no matter how clear it had been at the time, was always difficult to do. Things were shown to him as animations of smoke upon a canvas of black. He could feel himself in Hermione's sleeping body and in the smoky haze of recollection, he saw himself once more as a child.

This was immensely difficult for him to understand and he wondered if perhaps she was mistakenly remembering the memory he had let her see just a moment ago. But as the picture became clearer, he could see his child form was curled up, fast asleep. There also was a malevolent presence that he could not make out completely, at first he was only acutely aware of its hunger. He had no idea how he knew, but he was certain the child was what it hungered for. It wanted to devour him. The child started to disappear and he was afraid the creature had achieved its dastardly goal, but all of a sudden, clear as a bell, he heard Hermione's voice.

 _"No! Not him! Take me instead!"_

The image of the child flickered, interposed against an image of (Draco could hardly believe what she was showing him) _himself_ as he was now. A grown man. He watched in complete bafflement as he stared down at himself, through Hermione's eyes. His mouth went dry as he realized she had given her permission for the creature to take her and it had. She had... _sacrificed_ herself for him. A rush of tender warmth flooded his entire body but as quickly as it had come, it drained, as his mind grasped the meaning of what she had done. The creature had taken her image and used it to entice him. Did that mean Hermione was still possessed? Was she only acting attracted to him because the creature wanted to possess him as well? Of course, she couldn't actually have wanted him, he chided himself for being so foolish. _It all made so much sense now._

But Draco was instantly confused when he realized he felt more disappointed than relieved.

.

* * *

.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N

Sorry for the late update. Things have been difficult as I kind of got fired from my job and just lost focus. My apologies if this doesn't bring to light any new information but this chapter is mainly serving as a refresher so I can reacquaint myself with my own story. I'm terrible at planning this stuff out and basically just writing by the seat of my laptop. Anyway, hope you enjoy. More to come soonish but hope I get a new job sooner. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing.

xo

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* * *

.

Lucius Malfoy did not consider himself a perverse person. He was however, admittedly, someone who would do whatever was necessary to obtain his ultimate goal. He justified several courses of action throughout his controversial history with this mission statement and did so now, watching as a young man whom he had a most sordid history with was lured to his inevitable downfall.

From the safe confines of his underground lair, he watched in morbid fascination as the Succubus sauntered over to Ronald Weasley in the form of none other than Hermione Granger. She was becoming a regular fettle which the creature morphed into. _Even Draco had wanted to play in the mud_ , Lucius shuddered remembering the last time he had seen her. It had been almost a decade ago. Her tortured screams wafted through his mind like a meaningless draft.

Lucius did not trust Muggleborn witches, or wizards for that matter. In his opinion, their very existence sullied the immaculacy of the magical realm. To him, they were completely unexplainable and their randomness threatened the exclusivity of magical prowess which he believed most ardently belonged solely to true witches and wizards; in a word, _Purebloods._

Muggles, if he was being completely honest, did not garner human equality to Wizardkind. They were merely tolerated as crude tools to be used accordingly, namely for drudgery, be it physical labor or for the dubious ingredient variety for things like rituals and potions. To their benefit, and his own as well, Lucius conceded, they were easily put under the Imperius curse and could be helpful toiling with bidding one might consider beneath a powerful wizard such as himself. Using them in this way also disguised true motives and was essentially untraceable if done effectively.

Things seemed so random in the Muggle world, but they seldom ever were.

It was of no consequence to Lucius Malfoy. He could easily justify the slaughtering of women and children if it meant his own lineage would survive in triumph and he rarely ever had to get his own hands dirty. Afterall, Muggles were not innocent, he reasoned, loftily substantiating his claims by thinking of how many more lives had no doubt been spared with the annihilation of these careless polluters and senseless poachers. They were unforgivably savage and therefore, must be treated as such.

Lucius was disgusted that the International Confederation of Wizards had allowed Muggles to run amuck for thousands of years, breeding themselves out of control, their numbers barely kept in check by disease and disaster. It was a blessing they had figured out a way to blow each other up but it only made the imbeciles that much more dangerous. The ICF was unforgivably careless and left the unnecessary task of thinning out the herd to honorable sorcerers such as himself, whose powers, he felt, were better suited for something far greater. But being a wizard of incomparable means and intelligence, Lucius was able to combine his ambitious need for power with the unavoidable feat of abating the ever growing numbers of Mugglekind.

 _How?_ One might ask. The answer was simple. _Blood Magic._ Blood magic alone provided the only reason he could  not consider Muggles the same as appliance or livestock. Blood Magic, at least the kind he practiced, required _human_ sacrifice and in this instance and this instance alone, the undeniable humanity of Muggles proved exceedingly convenient.

He returned his attention to the Succubus and allowed a grim smile to play upon his waxen features as he watched the first flawless dance of many to come. The young Pureblood wizard awoke from his daze with heavy eyelids and here before him, was something he desperately wanted with all his body and soul. The fantasy would be anything he could conjure within his heart of hearts; nothing could be hidden from the Succubus and as long as the fabulous farce ultimately ended in the feeding of his pet, Lucius never cared what it might be.

Time and time again, he had watched almost as spellbound as his captives and cohorts as the Succubus transmogrified into any and every desire; no depravity was too perverse or taboo to a creature that had no conscience or sense of morality, and offered not only the reflection of the captives greatest desire but the tangibility that had seemingly once been so elusive.

As long as she left with the sustenance she craved when it was all over, there was no limit.

Lucius felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he stared hungrily at his beautiful monster. She had not been fed in eight years and Lucius had thought he must begin the daunting and laborious task of replenishing her powers to bring her back from the brink of inanition but this was not so. The Mudblood Pierce Harchird was educated about her kind and had somehow found the one thing that could expedite the process. Lucius could hardly believe his luck when he'd gleaned the information from the man.

Upon inspection of his most prized possession, it became painfully obvious that the combined DNA of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger must have made quite a powerful little witch or wizard indeed, because the fetus' life essence was enough to give the Succubus back her powers of physical transformation. Normally it would have taken far longer and many more fetuses would have had to have been sucked dry, yet amazingly, Harchird had accomplished this with only _one_. Thankfully, Weasley was a Pureblood wizard but Granger, Lucius recalled as he wrinkled his nose in distaste, had been sired by _Muggles_.

When she had been revealed as the pregnant woman Harchird had used as means of revival, Lucius could not suppress his shock. He hadn't recognized her at the Ministry when looking through his familiar's eyes, and upon this revelation, he was forced to relive the utter shame and indignity he had felt when his only son had confessed the very same little Mudblood brat had beat him in every subject at Hogwart's. _And now this._ Lucius had almost hung his head. Time and time again Hermione Granger's magical deftness had been an outright mocking disgrace to him and it seemed she would persist as a constant source of humiliation to him. He and his own wife could not have managed such a fantastic recovery with any of their creations, even when the beast had been well fed and at full functioning capacity...and they were of _Untainted_ stock!

His cold, metallic eyes narrowed in loathing. Muggleborns were complete abominations! How could she, this filthy mongrel; this usurper of magic, be capable of producing an heir so powerful and at such an early stage of its life? He gritted his teeth as Granger's insipid little face floated into his mind's eye but then, an idea occurred to him, a most odious idea, and he smiled. Perhaps she could be of further use. There was no doubt of her popularity and young wizards liked having options and after all, the Succubus really deserved having a varied diet as well. His eyes flicked back to the Dragonglass cage and he watched idly as the false Hermione got down on her knees in front of a stuporous Ronald Weasley.

"You hurt my feelings! If you're really sorry, then beg me to forgive you," he could hear Weasley saying drowsily as he thrust his erection at the creature's face. It might have been an arousing sight to behold had the feeding form of the Succubus not been so terribly horrific as it displayed its suctioning scolex. But Weasley's head was already lolling on his shoulders and he did not see. No one held under the creature's full power ever did. The Succubus was always eager when set to task and the cursed beast was always hungry.

The young man was spent easily Lucius observed, as the fed creature rose from its knees, and not to his surprise, grew in both beauty and power. He licked his dry lips relishing the undiluted victory of a man whose patience had paid off. His magical conduit was restored to him, its power had been replenished tenfold, and the seventh Unforgivable Act had been completed.

Yes, the time had finally arrived for Lucius Malfoy to reap the fruit from the family tree he so rightfully deserved.

* * *

.

Hermione was completely relaxed so Draco figured it couldn't hurt to delve a little further. _Ethics be damned, the woman might be possessed!_ He rifled through random things; her breakfast, irritation with translating the human-skin grimoire, her crippling fear of the Dark Magic that inhabited the book and for a time, herself. His consciousness flittered past these present day things as if he were flipping through a rolodex until something pulled at him. It was his own face. His own hard expression. Suddenly his mind was flooded with her frustration at him. She had been so confused when she'd seen him in the Medi-tent at the Ministry and genuinely thought he was a hallucination but once she'd heard his voice, she knew he had been the one to save her from the cold, dark place she had been discarded within. A strange ambivalence washed over him as he suddenly heard his own voice speak as if in an echo chamber.

 _"Shhh, it's okay. I've got you, I've got you. He's not going to hurt you anymore."_

And Draco discovered her mind had connected this sentence and its meaning towards that git Weasley and not that bastard Harchird. This was disconcerting to say the least. It certainly laid the groundwork for explaining the strange aura of absolute gratitude she seemed to radiate toward him. The human mind certainly was a mysterious series of rabbit holes. One single memory connected to millions more and Draco found himself reveling in an innumerable series of events and encounters with _himself_ at varying ages and varying stages of his life. Needless to say, most of these encounters were negative.

To her, he was the boy she would never be good enough for. Never stand equal beside. No matter how many questions she answered right, she was tainted, dirty, disgusting. The unnecessary shame she felt at every snide comment, every sneering smile, every look of loathing and wistful smirk from him made Draco cringe with shame himself.

Then, he was filled with her utter shock and, this no doubt most puzzling to him, _elation_ that she had felt when she discovered that she was in fact someone who evoked feelings of _arousal_ from him. _He's changed! Or I was wrong about him! Or we all were..._ Well, she'd experienced a combination of feelings with these thoughts...Draco struggled to decipher all her concomitant emotions...there was _relief_ mixed with _joy_ mixed with _fear_ mixed with **doubt**. She couldn't quite believe it, so she had tested the theory after he had regrettably kissed her.

 _But,_ Draco wondered, _did I really regret it? Do I_ really **regret** _it?_ He looked at himself through her memory's eyes, trying to gage his own expression. His eyes had softened and his stiff posture seemed to melt into her as his face grew ever closer to hers, then her eyes closed and she felt as if she were no longer homesick. He didn't regret it. Not then. Not really now, either, he decided.

The negative feelings he felt could more accurately be described as guilt. He felt as if he were taking advantage of her and it definitely didn't sit well with him. First and foremost, she was a patient. More obviously, she was Hermione bloody Granger and her mind was obviously even more damaged than he'd previously thought if she thought snogging him was something she could actually consent to and worse, _enjoy_ doing.

Draco snorted. It was all so horribly cliche, he thought bitterly. Obviously her mind had somehow become enraptured with romantic trifle because of this Succubus. That had to be it. To ensnare a man sexually was no difficult feat, but _a woman,_ Draco knew, there had to be belief; assurance. It couldn't be just a bodily response built up until quelled and it couldn't possibly work if the woman just wanted sex simply because, in his professional opinion, a woman could never be controlled by sex. If all she wanted was sex she could go out, have it, and be done with it. Draco knew that first hand. To ensnare a woman's mind, to keep her clinging on and returning, there had to be coercion, attachment, adoration...something more than just fancy and friction.

Hermione was indeed a victim of this creature and here was the proof; _she was falling in love._ But the creature must have been interrupted or something and just as his luck and her misfortune would allow, her remaining feelings had simply surged into the next being she encountered; namely him: _Draco the Death Eater Malfoy._ He had found her and saved her, unwittingly becoming a most unworthy substitute, he concluded shaking his head.

"Well, that's just perfect. _Abso-bloody-lutely perfect."_

More disturbing still, were her vivid fantasies about the two of them, they seemed to plague her mercilessly. She had given him a chiseled eight pack and a tan. Draco cringed once more. He really needed to get her some more books or a pack of playing cards, at least. Anything to help the poor woman distract herself from this elaborate and confounding Sucu-curse. He could feel his member begin to stiffen and his cheeks burned just rifling through her sordid flights of fancy. It was almost as if he could feel her desire wrapping its legs around his mind, thrusting and rubbing against it, like some attention starved cat.

This is what happened to someone who had offered themselves up to a Succubus in exchange to save another? Bless her. What would the creature have turned him into if Hermione had allowed it to slither into his mind? He searched hers for some kind of clue, but it was blank of such an explanation. The evil presence existed in her memories, but he could not feel it inside her consciousness any longer.

Draco was not mollified, however. In fact, it only made him more suspicious. This was not a human and in fact, no human had recorded an encounter with this thing in this day and age that they knew of. There was nothing reliable anyway, nothing but an evil book capable of possessing and destroying its reader. He felt helpless. He had no idea what to do. _Am I merely playing at being a Mediwizard?_ He wondered bitterly. She was so recklessly strong, sacrificing herself just so the creature wouldn't possess him. _Bloody Gryffindors._ He felt so weak in comparison. If he'd been possessed, probably he would have ended up dry-humping the Junior M.W.'s or sticking his cock into bottles of salve, he accused self-deprecatingly.

He held her consciousness at metaphoric arms length, embarrassed by his thoughts even though he knew she could not see them. Had he really been so arrogant to have promised to help her, to save her, even? And here she was so possessed by lust that she couldn't even grasp who he _was_ to her anymore. The bully. The villain. The scoundrel. The one who chose the dark side. How could she forget? And how could she have made him feel as if none of that even mattered anymore? He scoffed internally. Of course it mattered! This thing between them, it would never work. Draco chastised himself for just now coming to this obvious conclusion when in fact it hadn't ever been a reality. She was simply still recovering from the after effects of being possessed. That was all. The best thing he could do for her and himself was be patient. Stoic and patient. Ward off any and all of her enticing advances...

Physically, he could feel himself in his own body, biting his lower lip as his consciousness pulsed inside her mind. Would that even be possible? Already he was so attracted to her, the creature had slit a peephole into each of them and he had gazed into Hermione unabashedly, feeling the genuine warmth she emanated towards him without reserve or caution. No words needed to be spoken between them and Draco was wholly unnerved by it all. His relationships with women had been awkward and brief at best but this prodigious, enigmatic alliance baffled him. Even now, he was reluctantly certain that Hermione had placed her unwavering support and commendation upon him and without having to look, he knew her small hand was gripping his own tightly. To let go now would injure her trust but to let it remain might destroy his entire career.

He did nothing.

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* * *

.

Harry's teeth chattered inside his skull as his feet smacked against the fire grate of St. Mungo's and he hit his head on the mantle struggling forward, rocked off balance by the abrupt landing. The books that had been stacked so neatly in his hands fell to the floor in disgraceful _plops!_ sounding like giant owl droppings. He didn't much like traveling by Floo no matter how many times he did so and as he managed to get his bearings, he was immediately surprised and disturbed to have his face smash up against what felt like a smooth, invisible barrier, and he sighed in frustration as the books returned to the floor. He winced grimly, clamping his teeth together as he thought of the ways in which Luna or Hermione might injure him for his carelessness.

"What in the world? What _is_ this?" he demanded aloud, of no one apparently. "Hello? Assistance please?"

When this yielded no reply, he began to tap earnestly on the barrier which felt like impenetrable glass. It was dark so he inclined his ear toward where he knew the reception area to be and thought he could hear distant rustling, then an unmistakable _click clacking_ of hollow heeled shoes. The door facing him opened but still, the barrier blocked him from entry. A pair of startled blue eyes looked down at him from inside a shield cloak and Harry could feel his jaw drop as the crazy suspicion that he had somehow entered deep space took hold of him.

"Er...hello?" he asked in immense confusion.

The blue eyes blinked at him as if not wholly certain he was truly there and they were seeing him. Then after a moment's pause came a startled and shrill reply:

"Are you expected?" the cloaked Medi-witch demanded.

"I'm sorry, what? I have no idea what you mean," he answered honestly.

The Medi-witch looked down at Harry nervously and her eyes shifted with confusion equal to his own.

"Do you have an appointment?" she rephrased.

"I...wasn't aware I needed one? Aren't visiting hours still in effect?" he asked not even trying to hide his dismay.

The Medi-witch clucked in obvious disapproval and Harry felt completely out of the loop, he was definitely missing a large piece of this unexpected puzzle and he could only surmise that _something_ had happened in the days that he had been gone, something pretty major by the looks of it.

"The hospital is under Quarantine," she scoffed bluntly with more than a hint of annoyance.

"Qu- _Quarrantine!?_ " Harry echoed stupidly in utter disbelief.

"Yes, Quarrantine," she repeated with deliberate and somewhat rude slowness.

Stunned, Harry asked her, "Why?"

She shook her cloaked head. "I'm afraid the details are on a strictly _Need-To-Know_ bay-sis and _unfortoonately_ classified to the _pablic_ at the moment." She overstressed her T's, this woman. "Healer Malfoy will be releasing a statement shortly after he has made sure he has _i-soolated_ the affected _pear-sons_."

At the mention of Malfoy, Harry suddenly remembered why he was there. "Let me speak to Healer Malfoy!" he demanded.

The Medi-witch eyed him with weary amusement. "I'm afraid he's busy at the moment, you may come back when we are once again open to the _pablic._ "

Harry was extremely vexed. The one time he needed his famous Harry Potter privileges and this impossible witch fails to recognize him. No, he chided himself. He was not going to pull the _"Don't you know to whom you speak?"_ line. Not here, not now.

"But it's important! It probably has to do with the Quarantine!"

Her weary gaze soon dissolved into one of utter doubt.

"Oh? And what might that be?" she asked, cocking a thin brow.

"I'm afraid the details are on a strictly _Need-To-Know_ basis," he replied, eyeing her with determined smugness. She shifted unfomfortably where she stood and suddenly the light from the doorway hit his face, illuminating his features. He watched as her eyes fell upon his forehead and she spied his scar ( _Ah! That famous scar!_ ) and the realization of who he was dawned upon her.

"Right. Let me just go get him for you," she breathed, turning quickly on her heel.

Before Harry could stop himself the thought, _That's more like it,_ ballooned in his head and his cheeks colored slightly in both embarrassment _and_ pleasure.

 _._

* * *

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	28. Chapter 28

Just when you thought it was never gonna happen, here's an update! Hope you enjoy! Thank you to whoever is still reading and sticking with the story! Let me know if you have time to Beta? I'm struggling an itsy bitsy.

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* * *

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Lucius gazed at the vial of his son's blood. For a fleeting second, he wondered if perhaps somewhere down the line, he had made a mistake. _Was this going too far?_ Could he really do this to his one and only son? It was the only way. _Wasn't it?_ He shook his head and his silver hair swayed around his pale face which was etched severely with grim lines, yet completely void of expression.

Carefully, he unstoppered the vial and paused above the thickly steaming cauldron, there would be no turning back now; not if he wanted to save his proud lineage. Lucius may not have been many things he should have been, but no one could say was that he wasn't _committed_ to his causes. _At least until abandoning them became necessary for self preservation..._

He heard a shuffling behind him and looked on with eyes full of wonder as he watched the Succubus writhing in iron chains, her hair a curtain of flames draped behind her. The creature's molten eyes captured his and its body flickered momentarily until he was staring at his wife, Narcissa. His teeth gritted and his expression transformed into one cold and merciless as she smiled up at him from her place against the wall.

 _"You are a fool, Looocius,"_ she said in polyphonic resonance, Narcissa's own voice drawn out and hidden within the others. _"You forget, blood must be paid with-"_

 _"Silence!"_ he snarled. His hesitating hand turned abruptly and the vial's contents spilled into the cauldron. "There's no other way, Cissy. I'm doing this _for_ Draco. I will be able to make everything right... _in the end."_

Madness had made him unforgivably optimistic and as the contents of the cauldron swirled and churned like a living sea, he smiled hungrily at the sight.

Soon it would all be wonderful, he'd be called Grandfather.

A terrible smile twisted his features and he looked over at the disheveled form of his wife and chuckled, the sound like a broken hinge.

"You'll be a grandmere, Cissy. Can you imagine? Draco is going to be so strong, he will prosper where I...failed...with you."

Narcissa's form flickered once more and the succubus looked on at him coldly, its belly distended unnaturally, as if it and every other creature of its kind had never been put in such a situation.

And truthfully, none ever had.

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* * *

.

 _"Is this really necessary, Malfoy!?"_ Harry exclaimed as he was ushered through the mist of Disinfectant Douse.

"I'm taking every precaution, Potter," Draco replied, not even trying to hide his obvious amusement.

 _"Fullonum!"_ the Mediwitches cried pointing their wands at Harry. His unkempt hair immediately became frothy with bubbles as his green eyes helplessly implored Draco to intervene.

Draco did no such thing.

He still hadn't completely forgiven Harry for forgetting Hermione's birthday although he had no idea it was because _she_ hadn't completely forgiven him. Neither Draco nor Hermione were aware of their emotional influence over the other. She was usually good at hiding her feelings but with this inexplicable link between the two of them, she didn't have a chance.

"You better be taking me to Hermione after this, _you smug wanker!"_ Harry shouted through the lacey suds that coated his face and glasses."Call them off! _Oh! Hahahaha! DON'T TOUCH THAT!"_ Harry cried as the Mediwitches stripped him of his clothing and trapped him in a fully enveloping and sealed Q-cloak from head to toe. Harry felt as if he had been rolled into a carpet.

"Come now, Mr. Potter. Wouldn't want you to catch cold, now, would we?" smirked Draco as Harry was deposited on the floor in front of him. "Did you find anything useful while you were out galavanting around in South America? How is ol' Loony Lovegood?"

"I'd hardly call it galavanting, Malfoy," Harry said disdainfully, his voice muffled inside the Q-Cloak. " _Professor_ Lovegood had some pretty interesting theories."

"Well, I'm afraid we may have solved it ourselves, but thanks for checking in anyway, always a pleasure," Draco said dismissively. He made like he was going to turn and leave Harry on the floor of the hospital foyer.

 _"OI!"_ Harry shouted as he scrambled to his feet, sprinting after Malfoy. He felt like he was wearing a giant hot dog costume. "Where's Hermione! Take me to her!" he demanded.

Draco paused surveying the stumbling wizard before him. He folded his arms and shook his head, seeming to come to a decision of sorts.

"Potter, I can't let you go in there like that."

"Like _this_? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO FORCED ME INTO THIS, YOU GIT!" Harry yelled.

Draco clucked in disapproval. "Not that. Surely you aren't so dense? I mean, I know you're YOU but I would've hoped you'd realized the grave mistake you made in Brazil."

Harry gaped at Draco as if he'd just sprouted another head.

"Her _birthday_ , you dolt. You forgot it."

Realization dawned on Harry's face, followed quickly by guilt and regret.

"I...I didn't forget! Look, I brought her books! _Lots_ of books!" Harry said hurriedly as he searched himself realizing too late that the Mediwitches had seized all his personal belongings.

 _"Books?_ As a present? _For a woman you deeply care for?"_ Draco wondered aloud incredulously.

"I think I would know what my own best friend likes!"

Draco stared at Harry with shrewd eyes. "Sure about that, are you Potter? Are you certain those books aren't a gift from _Professor_ Lovegood?" he asked innocently.

Harry gulped. He was caught. Damn that Slytherin sagaciousness! But suddenly Harry remembered the Halo Tendril.

"For your information, I brought her back something very unique and...and _pretty_ ," he said ostensibly. "But I'm afraid I am without my personal possessions at the moment," Harry said with a significant glance at Draco as he shivered inside the Q-Cloak.

"Right. Well, follow me and I'll show you to your _temporary_ quarters," Draco said briskly as he continued down the hall. Harry was about to protest but Draco quickly cut him off. "Hermione is already asleep and I won't have you disturbing her. She's still in recovery, you know."

Harry closed his mouth and glumly nodded assent. With that matter taken care of for now, Draco turned down the corridor to the Tenant Quarters of the hospital with Harry padding softly behind him.

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* * *

.

The next morning Draco awoke early with the intention of intercepting Harry before he could try to sneak off and visit Hermione without any _medical_ supervision, he justified to himself. The truth was he didn't exactly trust her not to tell her _best friend in the whole wide world_ Draco had...no, _she_ had...well, _they_ had...he shuddered. He could just imagine what Potter would think. He'd probably curse Draco's bollocks off. Sure, he and Hermione hadn't had sex but the guilt he felt was the same as if they had.

That was why he pretty much avoided women. He couldn't bear touching them without a specific medical reason. There he was good. He was more than good, in fact. But whenever he had the misfortune of being in a situation where the touching wasn't medically necessary, he ended up regretting it immensely. He felt incapable of connecting with someone past that and though he might try to hide this truth, he found women to be terribly intuitive creatures who eventually just somehow _knew_ this about him. For all his brilliance in a medical setting, his personal shortcomings in intimacy and affection stood out like mandrake bitten thumb.

The mysteries of the internal body were solved for him, but even then it was only what he had learned and developed into skill for treatment. How could he heal someone's mind after they realized they were only a collection of cells and matter and there was no hope of becoming more to him? How cold he heal their heart after it was broken by that fact? Hermione was already worse for wear. He couldn't really tell if what was developing between the two of them was something legitimate, he just knew it was completely inappropriate. If anyone ever learned of what happened between them behind the walls of this hospital, he'd be stripped of his Muggle license to practise and sacked from St. Mungo's.

It was quite certain.

The portrait of Hr. Dai Llewellyn gave him a severe look before he passed under it uneasily. If Draco hadn't been so skilled in Occlumency, he could have sworn the painted healer could read his thoughts right then and there.

When he rounded the corner he realized he needn't have bothered with the interception since Harry could barely get out of the bed in the Q-Cloak and he actually had to help him up, much to his chagrin.

"I hardly slept a wink! It was like trying to fall asleep inside an improperly inflated inner tube," Harry complained. "How long do I have to wear this thing for anyway? And exactly what measures are you taking to clear the hospital of this... _contamination?_ Where are new patients being redirected?"

 _Ugh_ , thought Draco. _Could he stop being an Auror for five bloody minutes?_

Almost as if he could _also_ read Draco's mind, Harry stopped his line of questioning and Draco decided the best thing to do to keep Harry's thoughts off of the hospital was to take him to Hermione's room. He planned to do so in silence but the silence was extremely short lived.

"May I see the stuff you have from your father's manor?" Harry asked hesitantly. Hermione had written him a rather uncharacteristically vague note about the Appropriations locker Draco had access to, but only at Draco's suggestion. Initially, he had hoped it might snap her out of the funk she was in; the act and thought of writing to a friend about something _he_ thought should be exciting to her but it hadn't worked at all. Harry figured Draco would resist his prying, but without a word, Draco led him to the cabinet where he had the items and watched only semi-guardedly while Harry examined them.

"What's this?" Harry asked curiously as he pulled an ornate silver compact from inside the locker. Draco just shrugged glumly so Harry did a series of seasoned charms to counter any unfriendly spells that might be lingering on the object. When he was satisfied it was safe to open it, he did so warily and with his wand ready. Inside the compact was a puff and underneath a silver sort of cream. The mirror of the compact was surrounded by what looked like buttons with different carvings on them. A button was pushed in and its carved sigil appeared to be some kind of rune.

"What is it?" Harry said aloud as he examined it.

"Oh come now, Potter," Draco scoffed. "Don't tell me you've never seen _makeup_? Didn't the girls in your dormitory ever accost you and force you to sit still while they made you up?" Harry stared blankly at Draco and a pale pink began to creep above the hollows of his cheeks as he realized what he had just professed and _further_ realized what had not been a typical part of growing up at Hogwart's. Harry's eyebrows shot up as Draco's words echoed inside his head and he pictured Draco sitting stiffly under a _Petrificus Totalus_ while gaggles of Slytherin girls dabbed eyeshadow on his lids and curled his eyelashes. The visual was too much for Harry to keep his composure and before he could stop himself, he snorted.

"Shut it. It was Pansy's idea and only happened a couple times," Draco muttered with a bitter edge to his voice.

"So you uh...know how to use one of these things, then?" questioned Harry slowly, trying not to give into the fit of laughter that threatened to take hold of him. "I mean, you have actual inside knowledge?"

 _"You put it on your face,"_ Draco said darkly, his teeth gritted.

"Well," began Harry as he offered him the silver compact with an expectant smile. "Go on."

"Excuse me?" Draco asked doubtfully.

"Seeing as you're _the veteran,"_ Harry said, feeling cheeky enough to crack a full on grin.

"Sorry, but exactly how is this going to help us catch my father?" Draco asked severely.

"Not really sure, but it's a chance I'm willing to take."

"Very well, Potter. Have a seat."

"Wha-"

"You wouldn't want me to _Petrificus_ you, now would you?" Draco queried as he smiled triumphantly.

"I'm sorry, did you suddenly just lift the Quarantine you randomly placed on St. Mungo's?"

Now it was Draco's turn to sulk. Harry had him there, and if he wasn't careful, he'd soon put together this whole, _Quarantine_ ruse Draco had devised specifically to keep him from staying very long.

"It wasn't random! It's for the safety of our world and-" Draco could tell it was no use. " _Fine_. Turn around. I don't want you watching me do this."

Harry dutifully turned around while Draco tested a portion of the cream. The silver shone briefly on the back of his hand for a moment and then dissolved but no great change could be seen. Perhaps his skin looked a bit less pale and a bit more smooth but that was it. He scowled a little at his reflection in the compact and began to pat at his face with the puff. It was a bit humiliating but Draco could think of _fuck all else_ to do with any of it besides try and figure out its purpose. On that front, Potter was right.

"Are you in there?" asked a familiar voice from the hallway and Draco looked up suddenly as Hermione pushed the door open and limped in. Her eyes darted from Harry whose face was practically hidden inside the cumbersome Q-Cloak to Draco's whose face her eyes lingered on a heartbeat more before she let out a frightened scream.

"Hermione! It's okay, it's _me!"_ Harry interjected as he tried to calm his friend.

"H-Harry? Oh my god! _What are you doing in that thing?_ Who is.." her eyes flickered over to where Draco stood. Harry turned his head in confusion and Draco watched in dismay as his mouth dropped open in complete shock.

"What's the matter with the two of you? _What are you staring at?"_ Draco demanded.

Harry spluttered "M-Malfoy? What's happened to your face!?"

"What the bloody hell are you on about, Potter?" Draco turned his eyes back to the compact mirror but he didn't see any difference at all. It was the same face that he could barely look at when facing the sink mirror. The same face he'd cut sometimes shaving what little scruff dared to grow on it. He angled the mirror to the left and to the right but nothing appeared different. Maybe there were more lines then there were a week ago.

He looked back up at his companions to find Harry's face had transformed and kept transforming. First into confused horror then, to complete and utter awe.

 _"Brilliant,"_ he breathed as his eyes scanned Draco's face.

The look on Hermione's face was all Draco needed to push past Harry's attempt at blocking him in and he sprinted towards the larger mirror in the bathroom. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in its reflection. His familiar glacial grey eyes did not stare back at him. Instead, eyes he had never seen or looked into peered back at him. It was _him_ except where his face should have been, was the face of... _a woman!_

A woman with green eyes, full lips, long eyelashes, and a beauty mark under her right eye. Draco stared and stared. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was an eerily familiarity to her, like remembering a dream or something memory had dredged up from decades ago, floating hazily to the surface. However, with his own body and hair still firmly in place there wasn't enough of her to achieve recognition.

Draco's thoughts were soon interrupted by a soft knock that sounded behind him and he turned to meet another pair of green eyes.

"Mate, what the hell was your father up to, do you think?"

"You really think I know the answer to that question, Potter?" Draco sneered without thinking. When Harry didn't answer, Draco felt a pang of regret. The silence between them was uncomfortable and he could tell that the carefully built camaraderie between the two of them was quickly waning. It would be up to him if he wanted it to stay intact.

Draco had never really known true friendship; in fact, he'd never even known all the negative aspects of his personality had been the result of the never-ending loneliness and dejection he'd felt until _much_ later. He was embarrassed exactly how much later it had actually been before he had this epiphany and now here was this person who he'd despised all through his scholastic years.

 _Sharing his secrets._  
 _Calling him 'mate'._

Just how much did they think he could endure?!

Harry was turning to leave so Draco shut his eyes and with immense internal struggle, swallowed his pride, and called after him.

"So, you said you brought back some...books?" he asked, shifting awkwardly.

The dejected slump to Harry's shoulders eased immediately at the sound of Draco's voice and he halted his retreating steps as he turned back around with a wide grin (which made Draco cringe internally).

"Yeah, uh...I can go get them. Perhaps I can have a look at Hermione's book as well? " he offered tentatively.

"First take off that ridiculous Q-cloak," Draco ordered.

"Happily done, just as soon as you wash that rubbish off your face. Although I must say, you look much better like this."

Draco smirked at Harry through the mirror.

"The minute you fall asleep Potter, it's your turn."

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* * *

.

For the past two days, the three of them flipped through the books Luna had sent with Harry and argued about what the creature "might" be. Hermione and Draco were quite convinced of what it was but Harry was not so quick to agree. This led to many heated discussions between he and Draco. Harry's presence had always irritated Draco but now, after all the close encounters he'd been having with Hermione, he welcomed the change. He'd never admit it, but he was relieved to have someone else to focus his attention on and more importantly, someone to focus _her_ attention on.

Draco had had two uninterrupted nights of sleep thanks to Harry, who asked Hermione if it would be okay if he shared her room. If she was sneaking into bed with Harry, that was her business. Draco couldn't care less. At least, that's what he told himself. He actually had to give himself a draught of Dreamless Sleep to get to sleep, as he kept waking up due to the absence of a certain body _his_ body seemed to be protesting against.

He clung to the stubborn notion that finally he could rid himself of these ridiculous feelings and confusing stirrings. It didn't take long however, for Harry to sense something had happened while he was in South America. He never came right out and said anything but Draco could tell he was watching the two of them and the way they interacted with careful scrutiny.

 _Gathering evidence,_ Draco surmised. _Just like a bloody Auror._

Sure, Hermione had improved but Harry hadn't been there for the whole book showdown so he didn't know how bad it had been. He didn't know how much better she was and inside, Draco started to feel very defensive when it started to become obvious Harry thought this unhealthy change in his best friend had to do with Draco. To him, she probably seemed broken or like she was holding back.

Hermione was still on the mend of course, but surely, being her best friend, Harry could tell there was something else. Something that couldn't be explained away with recovery time or being in unfamiliar surroundings. Not even breaking up with her boyfriend. Draco didn't even have to wonder this worry as he watched the cogs in Harry's mind turn, trying to gauge whether or not he should voice his concerns or confront them individually.

 _Please keep quiet, Potter, for once in your whole, miserable life,_ Draco begged silently. _Just let it go._

He didn't like leaving them alone together but he craved solitude as well. It was a very unexpected ambivalence.

One afternoon he left Hermione in Harry's care while he went to do potion inventory. He'd been gone longer than he expected and was exhausted by the time he was finished. As he was nearing Hermione's room, he could hear the two of them inside talking. He didn't mean to eavesdrop but he _was_ a Slytherin, afterall.

"I had seen him earlier that day, in the Mess Hall. I was taken off guard by how different he was. He didn't look at me as if I was a parasite. I admired him...his ability to change for the better, in spite of everyone saying he never would. He did it anyway, not even in spite but because he truly wanted to and he just got better and better..."

Draco was stunned. Was she talking about him? She'd seen him before? She'd been thinking of him before he even caught her in the throes of despair or saved her from a dark demise? She'd been _taken_ with him?

"Are you..." Harry trailed off not even wanting to ask what he was wondering. It was too... _bizarre_. "Do you...do you _fancy him,_ Hermione?"

She gave a half-hearted, incredulous sort of snort.

"Harry I..."

But it was plain on her face. Sure, Ron and Hermione had been able to hide their feelings for each other from him for years, but this? He'd left her with Malfoy, what? _A week?_ Harry was flabbergasted. It was so unlike Hermione to not be logical and pragmatic, and well, _reasonable_. This was completely...Harry couldn't even come up with a word for what it was. Almost as if she were... _possessed_.

"But he's...I hate to remind you that he's..."

 _"THEN DON'T HARRY,"_ Hermione cut him off forcefully. "I'm not dwelling on the past, let alone anyone else's. _I can't!_ It's too painful. My parents, they're _gone_ and he's...he's completely different now and you shouldn't hold someone's childhood against them. _Need I remind you of your own?"_

For a second, Harry looked down in shame. She was making sense at least, but he could see a flaw in her reasoning.

"Hang on, I didn't grow up the same way as he did, Hermione. The Dursley's were terrible but they weren't _Lucius Malfoy_."

Draco couldn't bear to listen to anymore. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, locking eyes with Harry as if daring him to continue. Harry's gaze shifted to the floor and Hermione turned an even paler shade, if that was possible.

"Draco..." Hermione began. Draco could feel something in his brain switch when she called him by his first name. It felt far too sensual coming from her lips and his cheeks flushed as his eyes flicked from the book to Harry's to make sure he wasn't getting the wrong idea. By the way Harry stared at her, he obviously was, much to Draco's irritation.

"Draco," Hermione said again to their dismay. "He's your father. It's only natural that you would feel..."

"Immense disgust? Unfathomable betrayal?" Draco suggested waving his arms animatedly. "Trust me, Granger. My father hates Muggles and Muggleborns. I should know, what with having shared in that collective hatred _for years."_

Hermione blanched at the words. She'd almost forgotten he'd once hated her. Why did he have to keep reminding her? Why did Harry? It almost felt as if they were both trying to drive her away from the notion of her and Draco. Was she going crazy? Had they shared nothing over this past week to warrant these feelings of affection and comfort she'd found herself filled with for him? There was an aching inside her to touch him every time they were around each other and the emptiness she felt when they were apart was crushing all logical thought inside her mind.

Draco could sense the hurt she felt and was rightfully ashamed he was now the cause of it. He tried to tell himself her feelings were only the residual effects of her possession.

Harry had been observing the pair for only a few minutes but he knew something strange was going on and this was the moment the pot boiled over. His eyes flicked back and forth from both their faces.

"Okay. What's going on between you two? I thought maybe it was just you," he said, indicating Hermione with his eyes. "But why do _you_ ," he indicated Draco now. "look so bloody guilty?" Harry asked with a stern lilt to his voice. He gaped when neither of them said a thing and his thick eyebrows traveled further and further up his forehead with expectation the longer the silence was drawn out.

"You," Harry said flatly to Draco. "In the hall. With me. _Now."_

This was what Draco had been dreading. _This_ conversation. There would be yelling, maybe Harry would punch him in the nose or hex him. _Who could tell?_ But to Draco's complete surprise, Harry had an excited gleam in his eyes as he shut the door to Hermione's door and cast a _Muffliato_.

"How long, Malfoy?"

Draco gaped at him.

"How long has she been possessed?"

Draco's mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he stared at Harry absolutely dumbstruck. How had he known?

The silence seemed to be all the confirmation Harry needed.

"I knew it. There's a link here, I knew the second I touched that cursed thing. It just radiates with dark magic." said Harry visibly shuddering. "And all this business with blood magic and sacrifice? It just wreaks of possession. I mean, what else are the sacrifices for except to satisfy the needs of some dark entity?"

He pulled out his Lensieve once more.

"Remember when I said her memory had a dream like quality? That it seemed influenced by an outside force, somehow? Well I tinkered with it a bit while I was in Brazil and discovered it _had_ been tampered with." Draco narrowed his eyes defensively and opened his mouth to protest but Harry simply waved him off. "No, not by you or Hermione's attacker _but by Hermione herself."_

Draco had no idea what to say to this. Why would Hermione alter her own memory? He pulled a face of reluctance but Harry was quick to offer up evidence of his findings.

"She didn't want anyone to know and once you see it, you'll understand why. Now, I'll show this to you but let me just warn you now, you aren't going to like it. I almost choked on my tea but don't worry, I didn't watch all of it, just enough to make sure. Just try to keep in mind that she was being possessed, like you were, and the creature changed into something...she told me she had seen you earlier that day, so you must've just been on her mind and-"

 _"For fucks sake, Potter!_ Just get on with it! Show me the damn memory already!" Draco interrupted impatiently.

"Okay, okay! But just keep in mind that she's _possessed_ and she's not in her right mind, obviously."

" _Obviously_ ," Draco echoed in a scoff as he fit the Lensieve onto his eye.

What he saw shocked him to his core. Hermione's POV was, once again, in the dark, thinking about the nestling puppy when it saw the nightmare hag with the sucking vacuum attachment. She let out a long, loud scream but instead of blacking out as the previous memory detailed, Draco watched as the hag transformed once more...into...into, well, he couldn't quite see. It appeared to be larger, and more human. Was he looking at the top of it's head? He supposed so. It had grown shorter hair, which seemed almost white in the darkness. Whoever it was now, had its face _buried_ between Hermione's thighs and when it lifted its face, Draco thought he was having a coronary.

He stared, unbelieving _at himself._

He was going down on Hermione Granger most ardently. He watched his own hands caress her thighs and part them open wider. He watched his own tongue glide underneath her clitoris (yes, Draco used the correct medical term in his thoughts) as his lips sucked around it hungrily. And suddenly, she felt all hot and flushed. She was enjoying it. Draco watched the top of his doppelganger's head disappear once more and he watched in resplendent shock as Hermione's hand came into view and proceeded to grab a fistful of his hair and grind herself into his face. Her whole body seemed to tense and coil inside itself, until finally she let out the softest animal sigh and went still, barely shaking in orgasmic afterglow.

 _Then_ she blacked out.

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* * *

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	29. Chapter 29

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* * *

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Draco sat in the Muggle bar and snorted into his pint glass, not even bothering to stifle his laughter. A few people turned their heads in his direction; they too seemed to be enjoying the melancholy of their own solitude and did not seem to appreciate it being interrupted with _any_ sound of mirth, however false it was. He had never been a "good drunk" but then again, few people were.

How many pints had he had exactly? No one could say. The bartender was quick to whisk away the empty glass and plunk down another and Draco certainly hadn't been keeping count. He could hardly contemplate exactly how he had arrived here, at _The Swan Dive_ pub and idly twirled a paper coaster with his free hand on the bar top. Visions of the past week skittered inside his brain, here and there, but the one persistent thing on his mind was what the hell he was going to do now that life as he knew it was over.

He certainly couldn't go back to St. Mungo's.

 _Harry Potter strikes again,_ he thought bitterly. The man had an uncanny knack for slowly turning Draco's way of life on its head, ever since they were children. At least this time it hadn't taken very long. Just when he'd been making headway with Hermione and getting down to the essential details of what exactly had caused the aurors at the Ministry to take ill the way they had, here comes _the bloody Chosen One,_ with his wand waving, blasted scar set firmly in place, all set to ruin Draco's agonizingly slow progress.

 _Why did he have to show me that unaltered memory? What could possibly be gained by it?_

Draco was furious with him and much to his embarrassment, he was now even _more_ **curious** about _her_. She'd fantasized about him _before_ she'd been possessed? He was pretty certain that malicious succubus could only turn into the thing a person wanted most and for Hermione, at that particular moment, that thing had been _him?_ How the hell did that work out? After seeing the intact memory he'd found he actually felt _jealous_ of the creature. To know how it felt to make Hermione Granger come...to taste the salt of her skin...

He shook his head vigorously. This was no time to be thinking about _that._

But then again, he found there was little else he could think of. He hung his head, hating himself and his circumstances.

"So, wot's 'er name?" came a voice from the far end of the bar, interrupting Draco's feverish thoughts.

Draco let his half lidded eyes drift over to his right and spied a man sitting in the shadows. He snorted into his glass once more before draining it, and sighed,

"Hermione. Her name is Hermione."

"Hmm...that's not common, issit? Pretty tho. Ya drinkin' teh remember or firget?"

"Oh...that I _could_ forget," Draco said with a sour yet wistful note in his voice.

The stranger had meandered over to where Draco sat and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Me wife passed eight year ago this day. There's only one ting tet lets me firget. Lyle!" the man said, getting the attention of the barkeep. "We'll have two set ups," he said, holding up two chubby digits.

Draco watched in blurry fascination as "Lyle" opened a few overhead cabinets and set before them a sort of beautiful fountain-like decanter full of ice water, a pair of small, ornate glasses, and two spoons with decorations cut out of their bowls. He poured an almost glowing green elixir into the small glasses, then placed the strange spoons on top of them. The glasses were then put directly underneath the fountain spouts and a single cube of sugar was placed atop each of the spoons.

The subtle yet deft artistry was not lost on Draco. In fact, he found the whole whimsical ritual very beautiful and felt his breath catch as the barkeep turned the handle on each spout simultaneously and ice cold water flowed onto the sugarcubes, dissolving them over the spoon strainers into the jewel like green below. It was like watching snow melt over an emerald pond.

" _Absinthe_ ," sighed Draco's strange companion. When Draco furrowed his brow the man explained dreamily, "The Little Green Fairy," and he offered Draco one of the small, crystal glasses the barkeep had slid over to him.

Draco brought the glass close to his face and peered into its jeweled depths. _Would it really make him forget?_

The fact that it was Slytherin green seemed mildly serendipitous. He sighed thinking about everything he'd seemed to have lost in a matter of minutes and everything he'd lost in the last decade. His status. His family. His prejudice. His job. His mind. When he really thought about it like that, really what else was there to lose?

 _Not a bloody damn thing._

His new friend lifted his own glass up in salutation and nodded in Draco's direction but instead of saying, _Cheers_ , as was custom, he breathed a single toast,

 _"Charity,"_ before draining the contents of the crystal.

Draco thought this an odd sort of sentiment but paid no mind to it, perhaps he'd simply heard him wrong. He raised his glass before dropping the carved crystal to his lips, tilted it back, and entirely surrendered to the idea of letting this _Green Fairy_ be his guide tonight.

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* * *

.

Hermione was beside herself with worry.

"How could you let him leave? He's in danger! What if Lucius finds him?" she shrieked at Harry who was pacing around her room.

"Hermione, please calm down. Let me think," Harry pleaded in frustration. He felt like this whole week had been turned up on its arse and he hadn't even been able to go home and see his pregnant wife or his son, yet. Now the chances of him being able to tonight was slim to none. There was no one else here save for a couple of Junior M.W.'s, one on call Healer, and Narcissa Malfoy.

What had upset Draco so much he would just abandon them all like this? Why had he quarantined St. Mungo's when there was no need to? Maybe to get rid of nosy staff? Or focus on Hermione and Hermione alone? Or perhaps...

 _"No,"_ Harry said aloud.

"What?" Hermione asked giving him a searching look.

Harry, not entirely sure how much of his suspicions he should reveal to someone who might still be under the influence of an ancient, almost completely unknown creature's possession, let alone a dark magical curse from a dark, magical object, shook his head and suggested,

"Let's look at the books again. We can't just rely on Malfoy to direct this."

Hermione sighed and nodded ascent. She had to get her priorities straight. If they could find a way, some sort of method to defeating this madness, they might be able to save many others, and not just Draco. But it was so hard to know where to begin when they weren't even sure what Lucius was using the creature for exactly or what he had been trying to accomplish with all this blood magic business.

" _Fiend Fay_ , or demons, as Muggles call them, are usually summoned in blood magic rituals in order to exercise control over an impossible task or large group of people. What I know about Lucius is that he advocated a Pure Blood agenda. His family crest is _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._ It means, _Purity Will Always Conquer._ It would seem he took great measures to ensure success. It says here, the Succubus can be enticed to make one vow with a human, if seven Unforgivable Acts are completed within a specific number of full moons," Hermione read aloud.

"Even if it is a Succubus, we have no way of knowing _when_ Lucius brokered this bargain with the thing, though," Harry replied glumly. "And what exactly are the Seven Unforgivable Acts?

"Who's to say Lucius was the one who started it? Perhaps he was finishing someone else's work..." Hermione's voice trailed off uncertainly.

Harry immediately caught on to where she was heading.

"That's true. The man was always more puppet than master. But he was a scheming puppet...very clever. He could pull his own strings, that was certain."

The room filled with an awful silence as they both remembered another book; a diary, written by a young man that stealthily found its way into Harry's own wife's first school cauldron one fateful day in Diagon Alley. A very deceptive diary that proceeded to possess her mind, body, and almost, _her very soul._

This whole series of events had been orchestrated by none other than Lucius Malfoy himself. It was very Slytherin of him. Hermione had told Harry of what Draco and she had seen in the _Pensieve_ after pouring one of the black filled vials into it and Harry had gone noticeably still. Hermione wasn't exactly shocked. It was beyond disturbing to confess what she had seen, aloud to her friend. Oftentimes when a child popped up on the radar of the Auror department Harry would ask for the assignment himself. He'd helped to reorganize the entire Protections Division to help it become less cold and intimidating to their younger charges. He'd always had a soft spot for children, having been abused himself as a child.

Hermione was about to open another book but Harry interrupted her train of thought.

"Tom Riddle was a pedophile."

The simple way Harry said the sentence was misleading; his words fell onto Hermione's ears like so many stones upon the floor.

 _"Oh my god, Harry,"_ she said, horrified. Then she went back to her previous thoughts. "You don't mean... _Ginny?"_ she whispered hesitantly, hoping she was wrong.

"It was years before she felt like she could confide in me, about all those terrible things that happened to her, her first year at Hogwarts. Voldemort destroyed her trust in people. She'd told that damn diary everything, spilled her heart onto the pages and it used everything it learned about her, _against_ her. To fulfill some sick desire of _his_."

They both shuddered visibly. Ginny was Hermione's closest female friend but she'd never confided anything to her like this.

"He didn't just violate every thought in her head or try to possess her soul, he violated her _body_ , Hermione. When the diary opened its pages to me and allowed me passage into its depths, I thought, like a _Pensieve_ , I was a mere spectre spectator, unable to touch or interact with anything inside it. But that was just what he wanted me to believe. The damn thing was a _Horcrux_! It wasn't bound by the same magical properties of transference. She had nowhere to hide from him and was barely aware what was happening to her at the time. _He could lure her in and touch her in there!_ And when he'd drain a little bit of her life force, he began to interact with her _outside_ of the diary as well. It would be months before he was strong enough to cast out his whole body, but _parts_ of himself he could..."

Harry trailed off and Hermione's imagination went wild as a sick feeling twisted in her stomach and she remembered the little girl she'd seen in cellars of Malfoy Manor. She didn't want to hear this. Still, Harry continued.

"Remember, how he was obsessed with the number seven? How he'd tried to make seven Horcruxes?" Harry asked bitterly and Hermione nodded. "Well, as soon as he found out she was the _seventh_ child born to a set of _pureblood_ parents, he became relentless. This consecrated her to him, made his desire to possess her even more insatiable. She told me sometimes she'd wake from one of her trances and find the bloody diary _under_ her robes, between her legs, always open, pressed against her bare skin."

Hermione was shocked. She could not believe such a loathsome creature as Voldemort was allowed to exist on this planet. What was scarier though, was that he wasn't a monster. He was just a man, just a _person_ like her. What he chose to do with his magical power was just...unimaginable.

"The Horcrux version of himself that had been preserved was young and still had human desires. He'd intended to use Ginny to lure someone else to suck the life out of so he could keep abusing her, but once he learned her entire family were "blood traitors" and she wouldn't shut up about how much she liked me, he became angry with her and decided to use her own life force to make himself corporeal. In his eyes, using her life force to fuel his own meant they would be together forever. It was _romantic_ to him. After I...after the events that happened in the Chamber of Secrets, she was really messed up. She just bounced in and out of entanglements with guys she didn't even really care that much about. She just longed for..."

"For?" Hermione queried, urging him to go on.

"Well, we see this a lot with abuse in the Auror department. When it happens at such a young age and it's the only form of... _physical_ affection outside the bonds of family...the victim associates that abuse with arousal and it's hard for them to separate it simply because they've had nothing else to compare it to. She was in and out of relationships at Hogwarts because she was trying to use those boys to forget what she'd gone through, lose herself in them, but they didn't understand her and while they were keen to accept the physical rewards of her forward and surprisingly experienced nature, they were in no way ready for the kind of patience it would take to build her trust back up and it soon discouraged her from trying. Ginny and I have... _come a long way_."

"Harry, you sound like a bloody therapist," Hermione sighed.

Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. It seemed Malfoy was rubbing off on her and he smiled knowingly at his friend who had the decency to blush once she realized what she'd just said.

"But seriously, you two are really lucky to have found each other. You were both the obsession of a mad man, the _same_ mad man, who used your mind against you in order to try and take control away from you. You understand one another in a way no one else ever can. Not exactly, anyway," Hermione said with a sad smile.

The correlation between Hermione and Draco was not lost on Harry and he was reminded of something Luna had said to him.

 _"Don't be too cross with him. Remember, they've both lost their own families, too."_

"You and Draco, too," Harry responded quietly.

"Yes," Hermione whispered looking down at her lap again. "Us too."

Harry licked his lips thoughtfully trying to come up with a tactful way to broach his next topic of discussion.

"Do you know what Malfoy thought of, Hermione? Do you know what the creature turned into for him? Did he tell you?" Harry asked quietly, trying not to sound suspicious but if his suspicions were correct, there would be no way to ignore it or dismiss it as mere coincidence.

Hermione continued staring at her lap but she could feel Harry's expectant stare, sizing her up, holding her in what could only be the keen scrutiny of an accomplished Auror. She could not give him any more half truths.

"He didn't have to. I was...well, _I was sort of there,"_ she confessed.

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* * *

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Draco's arm was looped around his new unlikely friend's shoulder, as they both sang a familiar verse.

 _"Then in comes bouncing Sally,_  
 _Her cheeks as red as blooms_  
 _Move up me jolly sisters,_  
 _And give young Sally some room_  
 _Then I will be your equal_  
 _Before the night is out_  
 _And these four drunken maidens,_  
 _They pushed the jug about!"_

He still had no idea how it was he came to be here but this man had accepted his company, bought him an amnesiac nectar of the gods, and knew all the lyrics to every drinking song Draco could think of, so he didn't dwell on the how or why of the moment. Because right now, he was enjoying himself more than he had in the last decade. He couldn't even spare a thought to anything that happened twenty minutes ago, let alone the last ten bloody years of his life and that was just fine with Draco.

The unflappable Healer in him was being drowned out but something in his head warned him to tread carefully, that he had missed an important bit of information about his new companion. Was it his name? _That must be it!_ Draco hadn't asked him his name at all.

"So," Draco drawled. "Who, might I ask, am I being blessed with the company of?"

"Well, I'll be blurved! Me mother would scold me something terrible if she ever found out I hadn't made introdooctions before getting drunk with a man! Me name's Toison. Toison Behbage. Pleased to meet 'cha!"

The man's surname vibrated in his head dully. It almost felt as if he had met him before. Draco narrowed his eyes at Tyson. He took in the man's disheveled appearance. Perhaps he had. Someone he had treated or met in passing. Draco hardly made it a point to remember anyone unless it was strategic. But before Draco could muse on this further, the man picked up the hand not holding a drink and shook it heartily. Something clattered to the floor during the exuberance of the handshake and when Tyson's eyes drifted from Draco's face to what it was, Draco almost pissed his pants.

It was his wand.

He'd just dropped his wand in a muggle bar! And this muggle man was stooping to the floor to pick it up for him. But to Draco's suprise, Tyson was stealthy about retrieving it and slipped it up into Draco's coat sleeve before he could even blink.

"Eh, beggin' yer parton, but yeh don't want to be waving something like that about. Nawt in a place like this. You bein' one of _them_ folks," he said quietly, cautiously scanning the room at the other drunk patrons. When Draco gaped at him, he chuckled softly.

"Me wife. She was one of you, er... _special_ folk. Moidured _by a monster_...for loving a wretch like me."

Tears started to fill his eyes but a sick sensation began to fill Draco. It spread throughout his stomach, all the way up into his throat and he was momentarily frozen. _Burbage_. The man had given a toast only moments before...he'd said 'charity', like 'cheers', so Draco's thoughts hadn't pursued what it might mean, drunk people say all kinds of nonsense. But the truth was Tyson was actually paying homage to his dead wife by toasting her _name_.

Charity.

 _"She was one of you, er...special folk,"_ he'd said.

And Draco's eyes widened with dawning realization.

 _Charity Burbage._

A woman who had been murdered, yes. Not eight years ago, but _nine_. Not on this date, but another. In his very home, _in front of his very eyes._

And he had not done a thing except watch it happen.

Is this what the Ministry did to inform the muggle spouses of witches and wizards of their newly widowed status? Give them a phony date and a story which placed the blame entirely upon them? Wouldn't it have been kinder to _Obliviate_ them? His knees buckled and suddenly he could barely stand. The contents inside his belly roiled within him and it felt as if the last decade was rising up like a bloody serpent, burning his throat as it made its way up to be unleashed upon the world once more.

Every horror he had done and witnessed.

He saw Charity's levitated body above the great dining room table. He saw the tears trailing down her face, reflected under the cold light of the Manor; the way they fell to the table with barely audible splats, dotting the matte stone in dark spots. He saw the man who was a monster, raise his wand and cast his Unforgivable Curse at her body. _That's all she was to him; a body._ She was not a person to him, no, not to this man. She was just something he could snuff the life out of, like a candle.

Draco remembered cringing with sick horror because it was _so easy_ for Voldemort. There was no struggle or thought in his actions. He just killed her. Her body went rigid and tight for only a moment before it went limp on invisible strings, like a marionette and Draco was forced to watch the giant snake, Nagini consume the dead woman. Her body robbed of life. The memory bubbled up within him, desperate to be free and wreak its terror out into the world once more.

 _"Yes, let me be rid of it, I don't want it anymore,"_ Draco thought as he spewed forth everything he'd just downed in the last hour all over the floor of _The Swan Dive_.

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* * *

.

After Hermione had explained what had happened in Draco's encounter with the woman made of fire, Harry could only lift his glasses, rub his eyes, and bid her goodnight.

"It's just been a long day, Hermione. We should both get some rest. Tomorrow I'll try to go find that nitwit, okay? Do me a favor and take this," he said, offering her a stoppered vial of Dreamless Sleep.

When she gave him a quizzical look, he gave her a sheepish grin.

"I keep them for when I have to travel out of my time zone. My sleep schedule is completely buggered up."

She seemed satisfied with this answer and obediently downed the contents of the vial. The familiar workings of the potion soon took hold of her and she settled into the covers. Harry drew the privacy curtains around her bed and then made his way to his own room which he had decided was necessary to sleep in after Draco had confirmed Hermione had indeed been possessed.

He didn't tell Hermione any of this, of course, just like he didn't tell her he'd concealed a baby monitor under the sheets of the bed he had been sleeping in. Possessed or not, she was still Hermione and he knew she wouldn't take kindly to the protective gesture.

As her mind became dusky with sleep, Hermione thought of Draco and the more she thought of him, the more he seemed to become an active part of the dream she wasn't supposed to be able to have under the influence of the potion.

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* * *

.

"There we go," Tyson said as he opened up the small attic room. "I reckon that _Green Fairy_ is a sneaky little bugger to take yeh for a ride. Best to sleep it off, my lad."

Draco turned himself to look in Tyson Burbage's eyes. They were yellowing, Draco thought it must be cataracts and promised himself he would fix it for the man if he could do anything by the time he recovered.

"I'm sorry," he hiccuped drunkenly.

"Don't even think on it, young man! Why, if I had a pound for every time someone had to take care of me pissed arse..."

"No! I'm really sorry! You have no idea..." Draco interrupted in a choked sob as he wildly flailed in the arms of the man who still held him upright.

"Come now! Don't be like that. This here is karma is what this is!" Tyson said merrily as he hefted Draco onto the small spare bed.

 _That's exactly what this is,_ thought Draco. He could hardly muster a goodnight response as Tyson bade him pleasant dreams and he felt relieved when the older man turned out the light and left him to his brimming blackout. His last hope was that he would not have anymore unpleasant memories sneak up in his dreams and he didn't.

No, what he dreamt was much worse.

He was in a darkened hallway of St. Mungo's. He recognized it by the smell of Disinfectant Douse. He heard a noise down the other end of the corridor. Labored footsteps coming toward him. Draco could not control the impulse that took over him. He heard her, _it was her._ His body responded almost immediately, the fire in his veins surging down to his loins. He could hear the sway of her hospital gown as she searched the dark hallway.

Sensing how close she was, he flattened himself against the doorway, preparing for her to pass and not notice him. He watched completely mesmerized as the paleness from her gown entered his line of vision and then drifted past him, like a ghost; the dark outline of her curls cascading down the open back. Draco could not repress the sudden urge he felt, as soon as her vulnerability became obvious, the force driving his erection compelled him to lunge forward and grab her from behind.

She let out a startled gasp and he pulled her close against his body, grinding his hardness against her backside. His hands wandered in separate directions, one gliding up to latch itself against her throat and the other nestled itself deep within the joining between her thighs.

Draco's pants were near bursting at the seams as he pressed his fingers into her intimate flesh and Hermione moaned with shock and to his surprise, what sounded like _lust_. He knew he had to make her his, fill her with his seed. Just thinking about opening her, squeezing himself into the wet velvet of her _-it was driving him barking mad!_

And suddenly, a voice slid from his throat, one he could not recognize as his own.

 _"Now that we've taken care of the Weasley welp, let's put something worthy of being inside you. I'm gonna make you feel good, Granger. I'll make you feel so good you won't want to do anything else but feel me come inside you. **Over and over. Again and again.** "_

And at these words, Hermione's body went slack against him. He pushed her head back against his shoulder and brought his lips to her throat, going through the motions of choking her one handed without actually applying any pressure. His other hand pushed harder against her womanhood, sandwiching the lower half of her body between it and the throbbing steel between both of them.

 _"I already know that you're so wet for me. I already know all your favorite ways to be taken. And I already know you're ready to conceive a child again, you've healed enough, I've been waiting so long to be inside you."_

She felt her hair move against her skin as he whispered all this in a voice deeper than his own. It seemed to pull her out of this reverie momentarily.

"What... _what's happened to you?"_ she groaned weakly, struggling against her desire.

Draco laughed in a conflux of voices.

 _"You silly girl, haven't you figured it out, yet?"_ he asked with mock reproach as he lightly traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. It felt so good she could barely pay attention to anything else but then he pulled the proverbial rug out from underneath her. " _ **You're** not the one who's possessed. **Draco** is."_

Hermione's eyebrows shot up her forehead in complete and utter horrified shock.

"But I...I offered myself...to save him!"

"Yes, you offered yourself to _her_ but not **me** _. So I will take you now."_

Before she knew it, the gown had fallen forward and was edging down her arms as she felt the cool air of the hospital against her naked back.

 _"Isn't this is what you want? What you've always wanted? Me buried deep inside you, pouring deep inside you. Pumping my cock in and out of your slit, while you surrender to the ecstasy of irresistible domination?"_

The words had a hypnotizing effect on her and she closed her eyes, letting herself press against him. She felt his hardened flesh dip between her legs and then she felt it pushing against her, parting and stimulating her own slick tenderness. And his fingers began to work with exquisite subtleness, the little bud of flesh at the center of her weeping delta as quick, sharp jolts of pleasure eked up into her core until she surrendered to him.

 _Just like she knew she wanted to._

 _._

* * *

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	30. Chapter 30

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* * *

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Draco shot out of bed with his heart yammering away furiously in his chest and his poor cock aching as the blood flowed away from it. He could barely stomach the dream he just had. _He'd attacked Hermione!_ Spoken to her like some creature in a ruse to make her poor, addled, _possessed_ mind think she had to submit. He shuddered in his covers and closed his eyes. But the memory of the dream seemed to bleed into his thoughts, becoming a constant nightmare. One from which he was not sure he could ever wake.

And he felt...he felt... _angry_.

Damn that Potter! Why would he show him that hallucination?! It was making him...he shuddered...remembering how good it felt to have her pressed up against his throbbing... _the bloody hell was he dreaming about a patient like that for?!_ He was Healer Malfoy for fucks sake! He shouldn't be picturing his patients _naked_ backs or fronts or or...or _anything!_ His face suddenly felt hot and he could feel the flush bloom all the way down to his pale, pink toes. _Damn that Granger!_ Everything was going fine until she'd popped into the picture.

Touching him.  
Kissing him.  
Pressing her dripping, honey nakedness against him.

He'd almost given into it and oh, what a mistake that had been.

Now here he was, _driven_ from his own bloody Hospital, nursing a near constant _erection._ Ever since he had seen himself doing...doing _THAT_ to her, and the bloody aurors were still bloody _bound_ to their bloody beds, going _stark raving bloody mad!_ His eyes went wide, his pupils shrank, and his lips set into a grim, straight line as his mind began flickering with the memory of Hermione and how it had felt to have her pressed up against his body so...so _intimately_ , just about bloody well ready to mount the poor woman which then of course, stirred his groin with the flutter of incomplete longing.

What was worse was what he had been saying to her.

 _You're not the one who's possessed. Draco is._

That was laughable. She was the one who had wanted him to stay in her room. Who had snuck into his bed. Who had grabbed his... _well!_ Wasn't it obvious something was wrong with her if she wanted him like that?

But he had to admit, she hadn't been acting like she was possessed. There was no vacant glaze to her eyes, no unfamiliar voice coming from her mouth when she spoke. She wasn't being sneaky or secretive and though he didn't know her very well, she didn't seem unlike herself. Even Potter had only suspected her possession once he'd found Hermione had inspired the creature to turn into Draco of all people with her concealed desire.

Doubt crept into his mind like a tickling centipede. What if she wasn't possessed by the Succubus? What if her desire for him was... _genuine?_

If he were home, he would laugh himself into a fit. There was absolutely no way. But what could the other explanation be? It was maddening, what this whole series of events was doing to him. Guilt and shame were his default emotions and when paired with pragmatic cunning made for a very ambitious combination. He'd set forth toward redemption with determination and doubt. But _this!_ And _with her!_ Was she having some kind of revenge for the way he'd treated her in school? For being tortured in his home? For having to fight through her entire magical education and being treated like some second rate drudge? He froze abruptly, as realization washed over him.

Oh it would be sweet, her revenge, if it were so. She could level his entire life, let alone destroy his career. She _should_. Draco gritted his teeth. White hot fury roared through his veins.

 _But she wouldn't!_

She was _Hermione bloody Granger!_ Do gooder deluxe! Champion of the discounted and marginalized! That was him, now, wasn't it? Didn't she see that? He was already making good on his penance, each and every day, wasn't he? Why would she wait until now? What would be the point? Draco's eyes narrowed as his thoughts went wildly paranoid. _Of course!_ Waiting until he was actually getting somewhere was _all the point,_ wasn't it? Wait until someone is almost at the top, because then they have that much farther to fall. His stiff body shuddered with a chill.

How very Slytherin of her.

It all made sense now. She was having a go at him, quite literally. Forget being possessed, someone as self righteous and powerful as her...she should know better. He ran his fingers through his pale hair, attempting to stop the intoxicated thoughts coming at him so fast. What had become of the world if Hermione Granger could become so tainted? It was malicious, calculating, and bitter, if it were true.

It couldn't be true though, could it? The swot with a heart of gold? She'd said, _thank you_ to him... _so sincerely._ The gratitude she expressed had been staggering, seductive even. To have someone simply thank him, instead of that suspicious once over he was so used to, because his help was so unbelievable and worse yet, _unwelcome_ to so many, well it was, refreshing.

She couldn't do this to him.

And if she could...Draco's breath hitched. There would be no sense in it any longer. If someone as unflinchingly good as Hermione Granger refused to forgive him and had set forth a vendetta too diabolical for him to even comprehend...then he believed it. He truly was undeserving of any kind of redemption. But he wouldn't simply be dismissed as such. He was going to go back to that hospital and give her a piece of his mind before skulking back into the darkness he'd crawled out of.

As he stormed silently down the steps of the muggle man's home, he did a series of silent wand wavings with skilled and precise flicks. He was still a little drunk, but he had not forgotten what he promised himself he must do before leaving the home of Tyson Burbage.

Subsequently, hours later, Mr. Burbage would wake feeling uncharacteristically... _good_. The stiffness in his joints that he usually felt after a night long binger would be absent. He'd blink his eyes and absently feel around on the table next to his bed for his glasses as he had every morning since he was a young lad. However, a curious thing would happen after he put them on. His vision would immediately become _blurry_. He'd blink his eyes, trying to focus and then confusedly, take off his glasses and _look_ at his glasses without wearing any. Once they were off, he would find that suddenly he could see perfectly.

He'd make his way downstairs and marvel at how life looked without glasses. Things would be crisper; brighter. Objects in his home he felt he had not thought about in years would suddenly jump out at him and remind him of their presence. He'd once been an avid stamp collector; he built miniature model planes, and Charity, her little hobbies would spring out at him as well. He'd see he had neglected her hydrangeas horribly; their autumn stalks would seem sad and wilted under the incessant English rain. At the sight of them, he would feel a strong surge or remorse for allowing his life to waste away in mourning. He'd think Charity wouldn't want him to go on like this.

The compulsion would be so strong he'd spring to his feet, not noticing the vase set rather precariously on the ledge of a hallway table which he'd knock over and from within it, would fly out a small leather pouch, that would make a series of clinking and jangling as it hit the floor. He'd pick it up and feel something crumple under his hand from inside and he'd see a list with a small layout drawn on it, sort of like a map. He'd recognize with a heartsick lurch it was Charity's handwriting. She was planning on extending her flowerbeds and really making a proper garden out back. His heart would swell with pride. She'd been saving _sickles_ , silver! And quite a lot from the weight of the bag. He'd stare at the grey and green landscape that met his eyes out the back window. Everything in his life had been equally dreary but this woman, even in her death, was trying to cheer him up. Tears would fill the corners of Mr. Burbage's eyes. He'd nod once and go to fetch his hat. It was time for him to get a new hobby and Charity's efforts would not be in vain!

By spring, there'd be so many flowers blooming here, _she'd be sick of them._

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* * *

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Lucius grimaced as he rocked his hips forward in yet another orgasmic release. By the look on his darling creatures face however, he could tell She was not satisfied. He felt so sorry for the poor thing. She craved a more varied diet; being fed by many men, sometimes all at once.

In the old days, when the Dark Lord had been at the height of his power, he recalled how they would all gather around the Succubus and cover Her with their seed; how She would writhe before them, running Her hands all over Her rippling gold body, gathering it up and indulgently lapping it from Her fingertips.

Those were the days, he thought wistfully. But, he conceded, _they were also a nightmare._

His face became pained as he thought about how the creature served as a drug they had all become insanely addicted to. To Lord Voldemort, it was an amusement; seeing exactly what atrocities they were willing to commit, just for the chance to be in Her presence. To revel in the aura of such a powerful source of magic.

If power was the promise, then lust was the _prison_.

It was how Voldemort was able to effectively tie them all to him and control them. They were his followers but even more accurately, they were his prisoners, kept in breathless anticipation, going out of their minds just for another taste. They would do anything; _kill_ anyone for him. The lust was like a disease that kept them weak and waiting for release. Being that they were apart of the magical community they were isolated and being Purebloods only furthered their alienation. But it never felt that way to Lucius. They had been part of a most exclusive brotherhood.

Everyone else outside of it was just talking livestock to be used as they saw fit; to be _honored_ to be of use.

Lucius closed his eyes, remembering the screams. He'd been so weak then, he almost felt sorry for them. But the years had shown him the error of his viewpoint. They were only Muggles and there were so many of them, he mused. How could anyone possibly keep track or notice any missing?

The males the Dark Lord would glamour into grotesque forms of the same man. Lucius did not know at the time it was Tom Riddle Sr. and he would strike one dead before he went to bed, like a depraved night time prayer. The females were bestowed with the gift of submission from their male counterparts until they became pregnant. Then the Succubus got a sweet treat. She fed on potential children, after all.

The pure seed and the withering blossom.

They'd killed many Muggle males and Imperiused many Muggle leaders into pointless wars so that they could kill each other and more could be killed at once. Better them dead than have the possibility they could rape and maul a Pureblood woman, impregnating her with an abomination. He shuddered. The females were kept alive to serve until they became too old or used up. Unless they were Muggleborn. Then they were exterminated, but not before being subjected and debased for pure enjoyment. The book helped to subdue them. It made them think they had a choice. The end result was always the same, however.

First, they destroyed any chance of their having carry a child by destroying their womb and then their will to copulate whatsoever. Half the time, they didn't even have to kill the nasty little pests. The pests were so traumatized, all the Deatheaters had to do was carelessly leave a knife behind and the rodent would do herself in. But, Lucius had to admit as he concentrated on his pet while She rested, perhaps they'd been wrong in doing so.

The Mudblood's fetus had been startlingly powerful. It had given his beauty the power She had needed to transform and manipulate. She had been so weak with no feeding in eight long years. He could not ignore the possibility that the magic must have contributed to the Succubus' expedient recovery. Never would he make a pregnant Pureblood woman donate her fetus to this cause. But...Mudblood babies, he smiled evilly, they were another matter entirely.

What perfect sacrifices they would be, essentially, and in one case, _literally_ killing two birds with one stone.

To Lucius it was absolutely worth it, by the power of all things Magic, was it ever worth it. Every life that ended was detrimental so that his line could persevere. So that Draco could have a family tree worthy of his love and his suffering. That was the point to all of this bloodshed and darkness. _Could there be any greater way for me to show my love?_ he wondered as he stared absently at someone he no longer recognized in his _Tell All_ mirror.

The Purebloods had been all but buried but She would be the force that pulled them out of the muck and mire. She would be the _sun_. She had the power to replenish their waning numbers. She alone.

 _Everything would be worth it in the end._

His thoughts raced frantically. He needed the Mudblood. She was still young, she could be kept alive for as long as they needed. He could seek out other Mudblood females and use them the same way. But how could he get her?

Lucius' face screwed up in a distasteful expression.

"Harchird, you miserable fool," he spat at the corner of the room where Pierce Harchird bled and whimpered every now and again. He turned towards the man who was curled up on the floor. "Mudbloods," Lucius muttered bitterly as he kicked the man. _"What a scourge you all are!"_

He hated him but would not give him the sweet release of death. Not yet. If only he hadn't lost the book. _The_ book. The one that held the pact and the instructions. The one that possessed the male counterpart. Lucius smashed his fist on the table before him and sneered in vile repugnance. But he didn't need _Him_. Only Her. She would carry their future inside Her.

 _And_ He _would have nothing to do with it._ That uncontrollable fiend. _That_ **Incubus** _._ Spreading His magic gift to whatever unworthy wench spread her legs. It was _His_ fault for all the Muggleborns! For all the _filth_ that ran rampant around the world.

No more. Never again.

Lucius set his shoulders broadly with determination. He was all that was left now, but he would gather more. There _were_ other Pureblood males. He smiled grimly. He would gather them all. They would all feed Her until She was sated and then She would bestow upon him heirs who would not only be Purebloods, they would be undiluted, unmingled, completely and truly _immaculate_.

He would create a new order: _The Immaculates._ His horrible smile spread further up his face as he peered into the cavern room that held the Dragonglass cube where Ronald Weasley was slumped over against one of the walls, having been completely and utterly spent after being forced to feed the creature for the past sixteen hours. The two Pureblood wizards were taking shifts and the creature was still not sated.

 _Yes_ , thought Lucius. I will use the Weasley boy to bring the girl to me. _The foolhardy Gryffindor inside her will want to save him no matter what he has done to wrong her._ As if he could hear Lucius' thoughts, Ron whimpered and shuddered. Lucius gave him an appraising glance. _But it would be no use if he was dead by the time she got here._

He needed more Pureblood males.

Lucius shut his eyes and threw his head back against his shoulders in grim defeat. He hadn't wanted to resort to calling any of the Lessers, but he'd found himself in desperation. She had to be at full strength to survive the birth. Her kind did not get pregnant and they did not bear offspring. This pact defied all natural order to Her kind but Lucius had made it anyway. He would have unsullied heirs at whatever cost. The purest there could possibly be. _Immaculates_.

He unsheathed his wand and practically snarled, _"Gemuit!"_

A loud crack echoed within the underground chamber and out of the foggy mist there appeared a green outline of an immaterial door. Lucius did not move until he heard three reverberating knocks.

"Enter," he bade.

The door appeared to have opened and through the gaping maw of the black rectangle stepped two large and sluggish figures accompanied by a much smaller and spindly one.

"Master Malfoy," greeted Ezekiel Hacksledge in a hungry whisper. "I am so glad you have called us to you. How may we be of service?"

Hacksledge bowed grandly before him as his dull sons stood like statues beside him. Lucius did not even bother to turn to address the man's face. Just stared at him through the _Tell All_ to make sure Hacksledge and his twins were not magically concealing anything from him. Lucius trusted no one these days but once he was satisfied, he simply pointed to the other room.

"Take you and your Squibs in there. My pet requires sustenance."

Mr. Hacksledge's groveling expression faltered upon his face at the demand _just_ for a second before he was able to screw it back into one becoming of absolute servitude.

"Sh-surely my Lord, you do not mean for me to f-feed my ch-children to your...the deh-deh-your _pet_?" Hacksledge questioned hesitantly.

Now Lucius turned to him with a cold smile that seemed dead upon his lips.

"Oh, no my dear Mr. Hacksledge. I mean for them to feed _their_ children to Her. You know, the ones they smear against their pillowcases in that little hovel of a shop you call home. You may join in, if you so please. That is, _if you've still got it in you._ If I'm remembering correctly, you, like Nott, have a penchant for _little girls?_ "

The old vulture licked his lips and nodded as he led his boys into the room containing the Fiend Fay. It sure beat another boring old day at the shop.

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* * *

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Draco burst through the doors of the Hospital just as Harry was running down the staircase to intercept him.

"Malfoy! Where in Merlin's beard have you be-"

"Where is she, Potter?"

"Who? What the hell has you so worked uh-"

" _Who?!_ Who the bloody hell do you think I mean? Gryffindor's Golden Girl, herself, of course!"

"Whoa, whoa. Just calm down and tell me what's going on," Harry said trying to quiet the enraged blonde."Where have you been? We were worried about you."

That stopped Draco in his tracks. Some of the irateness drained from his face and was immediately replaced by shock. They had worried about him?

"You. were. _what_."

"Worried," Harry answered in confusion, concern etching its way into his expression. He surveyed the wizard before him and in a glance saw that Draco was still wearing the clothes he'd walked out in, had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and, Harry took a conspicuous breath in, "You smell like shite."

"Thanks, Potter. Putting your brilliant Auror skills to good use and pointing out the important details of the matter, as usual."

Harry put his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying. Do you really want to go see her like that? Why don't you go have a shower and then we can tell you about what we've discovered."

 _"What have you found out?"_ Draco demanded impatiently.

Harry rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "After. Shower. _Now_."

Draco opened his mouth to protest but Harry shook his head. "I mean it, mate. You smell like a drunk trash can full of dead Skrewts."

The blonde healer glowered but turned on his heel and headed for the showers. He opened the door and saw steam still framing the mirrors. Harry must have just had a shower as well. He'd scattered his toiletries all over the counter.

 _"Slob,"_ Draco muttered. He heard a strange crackling coming from something in Harry's belongings and whirled around, startled. There was something he'd never seen before that was making an awful racket. He picked it up and shook it. It was compact and smooth with a round, rough disc that was covered in metal...mesh? It seemed to have a single antennae like an insect protruding from its top.

"The fuck is this?" Draco wondered aloud.

He'd never seen a baby monitor before so imagine his shock when the thing whirred in his hand and dreamily sighed his _name_ through a crackle of static.

 _"Mmmm...Draco."_

Draco felt the blood drain from his face and immediately begin to throb down towards his groin as he recognized the voice as **Hermione's.** He felt his pupils shrink into his skull as his erection once again sprang to life.

 _"Yes...I want you to...I want to feel you inside..."_

She was trying to drive him mad.

He hardly took time to throw a towel around his waist before he was sprinting to her room.

 _"WAKE THE FUCK UP, GRANGER!"_

Hermione groggily roused, her face scrunching up in dismayed consternation. Shards from her dream of Draco finally taking her in the corridor of this very hospital clung to her fingertips but she was dragged away from them, her consciousness abruptly thrust into waking. Her eyes blinked rapidly and her heart began to stammer in its beats just to catch up with the adrenaline released into her bloodstream.

No, this was definitely not the wake up call she had been hoping for.

 _"Dra-Draco?"_ she said rubbing her eyes and feeling the once ravenous heat between her legs become extinguished as she stared into wide eyes the color and surface of a frozen lake. She shivered a little when she discovered the bitter chill they flung down into her own.

"Having pleasant dreams?" he sneered.

She smiled half heartedly and looked away from him. "Well as a matter of fact-"

"What is it you want from me, Granger? You want me to fuck you? Is that it?" Hermione's knees quaked under the blankets at the words and her whole body became warm and shivery. The words were shocking coming from him but the harsh manner in which he spoke them were in no way less enticing. His eyes were dark and bore into her like sharpened lead, never leaving hers. "Well then just _say it."_

She gaped at him, unable to say _anything_ which was lucky because apparently, Draco was not finished.

"Say, _"Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and follower of Voldemort, spoiled prat who called me 'Mudblood' and bullied me throughout our time together in school, who stood there and did nothing as I was tortured in his home, please_ **fuck** _me,"_ he ordered.

The words fell from his lips like stones upon the ground and he smirked as she visibly flinched. He regarded her in an intense stare but his voice was deadly soft.

"What's that? Cat got your tongue, Granger? No? Can't get the words out though, can you?" He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "They don't sound _quite right,_ do they, love? Too bad it doesn't make them any less true. I did those things. I _chose_ to do those things. Remember? Face it, you don't want me, Granger. You feel a compulsion that you are mistaking for genuine desire when it's just... _a curse._ A curse created by wizards to make Muggleborn women submit to their will while thinking it's completely consensual. _But it's not."_

She looked so small and hurt suddenly that Draco could not bear to watch anymore. He knew he'd gone too far but he had to make her see. There could be none of this between them. He turned to leave but immediately halted at a small sound coming from her bed. He turned around slowly to face her again. Nothing could prepare him for the look she greeted him with. Gone was the scared shock that had colored her expression only seconds before and in its place was the furrowed, steely gaze of a lioness.

"How _dare_ you," she seethed.

Now it was his turn to gape at Hermione in startled surprise.

"How can you still persist in this delusion that nothing is happening between us? _Are you blind?_ Or are you really that weak?" The steely gaze flickered on her face and crumpled into a horrid expression of pain. _"You abandoned me last night! You have no idea how worried I was about you!"_ she accused, the confession flooring Draco once again. He fought the urge to rush to her, wrap his arms around her, and just breathe in the comforting scent of her hair. She shook her head bitterly and scoffed, _"_ I thought we were past all this but maybe you still are that scared little boy in the Manor, content just to watch and refusing to help me."

She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips but the damage was done. The thaw Draco had suddenly felt, left just as quickly as it had come and he stood before her, once again, cold and immovable as stone.

"And praytell, how _should_ I help you, Granger?" he asked, icily.

She gave him a mirthless smile and cast her eyes as far away from him as she could.

"Talk to Harry. He lost the coin toss. He has to break the news to you."

Draco took one more long look at her, as if to make sure this was really how they were leaving things between the two of them and with a haughty snort, he turned away from her and went to find his good ol' chum Scarhead.

 _._

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End file.
